


The Icarus Reversal

by Adam



Category: A Coming of Age, Batman (Comics), Big Bad Beetleborgs (TV), Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Highlander: The Series, Josh Kirby...Time Warrior!, Power Rangers Turbo, Star Trek: The Next Generation, Xena: Warrior Princess
Genre: Character Death, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:21:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 108,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adam/pseuds/Adam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty exceptional children from across the multiverse are kidnapped by a mysterious being and forced to take part in a gladiatorial contest which only one of them can survive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Kenny from the “Highlander” television series, Jason Todd, the second Robin, from the Batman comics, Josh Kirby from the “Time Warrior” movie series, Josephine McCormick from the “Beetleborgs Metallix” television series, Justin Stewart from the “Power Rangers: Turbo” television series, Solan from the “Xena: Warrior Princess” television series, Colin, the Anointed from the “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” television series, this alternate version of Alexander Rozhenko from the “Star Trek: The Next Generation” television series, or the planet Tigris from Madeline’s background, which is taken from Timothy Zahn’s novel “A Coming of Age”. Basically, if you recognize a character, I don’t own that character. 
> 
> You do not need to be previously familiar with any of the characters named above to understand and enjoy my story. 
> 
> Now I know it seems that a tale with this many cross-over characters couldn’t possibly be worth reading, but since you’ve already clicked on it please at least finish this chapter and give me one chance to prove otherwise. 
> 
> Credit goes to Zach Mendorra for coming up with the initial concept and writing some of the Prologue. 
> 
> Special additional disclaimer: Yes, I am aware of the general similarity to “Battle Royale” (which is an excellent book). This story idea was first presented to me several years ago by the former friend named above; I don’t know if he had even heard of “Battle Royale” at the time. After learning of its existence I did track it down and, having read the novel, I’m confident that you’ll find my tale differs significantly from Koshun Takami‘s. 
> 
> Alternate universe notes: As noted above, the Alexander here is from an alternate universe, one where he was never raised by the Rozhenkos; instead he was raised by Worf’s brother Kurn, and so is a much more typical example of Klingon youth. Also, this Jason Todd was never brought back to life. 
> 
> Feedback: Feedback of all types, including constructive criticism, questions and predictions, is most welcome. 
> 
> Warning: This is without question a dark story. Expect multiple character deaths and much angst.

“Bring forth the prisoner!”

A black-cloaked and hooded figure was escorted through the throng of booing villagers, his arms held securely by two burly-looking guards, his hands tied behind him. They led their prisoner to the large wooden stake which had been erected in the town square amidst a pile of straw and kindling.

The village magistrate, clutching a foul, flesh-bound book in his pale, trembling hands, approached the condemned one. 

“Thou hast confessed to thy crimes!” the deliverer of justice proclaimed, his left hand seizing and throwing back the concealing hood. “Behold, fellow brethren, the devil-spawn’s true face!”  
A murmur of horror rushed through the assembled mob, followed by roars of disgust punctuated with shouts and the waving of torches. The “devil-spawn” was just a small boy, barely five feet tall. His face was round with youth, but marred by smallpox scars and twisted into an expression of purest malice. His eyes glowed bright yellow in the dark of night and his hair was black and wavy, just brushing his face. 

The boy ignored those holding him and stared at the magistrate. The fifty-one year-old man was the first to look away, unable to meet that unnatural gaze. “Tie him!” he ordered curtly.

The two guards forced the child back against the stake and freed his hands, only to bind them behind him and above his head, uncomfortably securing him to his place of punishment. 

“Morthos of Northshire, thou hast been found guilty of witchcraft!” the magistrate began.

“You foolish little peasant!” the young warlock interrupted, struggling against his bonds. “You think you can harm me? You are nothing! I will destroy you!” 

“Nay, damned one, THOU shalt be destroyed! By the order of the Town Council, thou must die!”

Before the magistrate could continue a torch came flying out of the crowd, thrown by the father of Morthos’ playmate Sarah . . . a playmate Morthos had sacrificed to his dark lord. 

The torch landed in the straw surrounding the stake and fear finally broke through the villainous child’s arrogance. He pulled so hard on his bindings that his wrists bled, but the ropes had been tied tightly and well. 

Another torch soon followed, then another, and another, until a bonfire began to blaze at the child’s feet. The heat was unbearable and Morthos howled in pain as the hem of his robe caught fire. He screamed out to the one he worshipped for mercy, pleading for help. Triumphantly the magistrate raised the dark one’s cursed spell book overhead and cast it toward the fire.

As the tome flew toward the flames everything seemed to slow down. Morthos’ cry deepened until he was silent, his hideous visage contorted in terror. The flames ceased to burn and a final torch halted in mid-air, hanging in space. 

The entire scene was frozen in time, a single second captured forever. 

A white mist began to seep up from the ground. It was slow-moving, yet within that eternal moment it was the only thing that did move. It flowed toward Morthos, unhampered by the apparent stopping of time. 

The mist wrapped around the accused warlock, extinguishing the spurt of flame on his robe. A tendril reached out and passed over the book, only a heartbeat away from plunging into the inferno. 

In a flash of white light, time resumed its normal course. 

The magistrate nodded in satisfaction and relief as the warlock fell silent, the fire swiftly spreading to his clothes and skin. He turned back to address his fellow villagers, not noticing that the book he had thrown into the fire was gone.

ΩΩΩΩ

Josh Kirby was on top of the world!

It seemed like everything was going right for him lately. His grades were better than ever, his dad had just gotten a mood-improving raise at work, and not twenty minutes ago he’d FINALLY been able to use his powers to freeze those jerks Tim and Gary in time for a few minutes, allowing the bullies’ victim to escape. And he’d done it in secret, without revealing that he was the one responsible.   
It was hard, keeping his Time Warrior powers hidden. He could bend the time stream to his will, but all he had to do was think of Irwin 1138 to see how much harm could be caused by meddling with time. The mad scientist’s betrayal still stung Josh . . . but he liked to think it had taught him a few things too. 

After the deaths of Prism, Dr. Zoetrope and Azabeth, Josh had vowed never to use his powers again. For a while things had been peaceful. He was able to rest easy in the knowledge that, in Irwin’s timeline, the Supreme Prefect’s tyranny was ended and the people were at last free. 

But Josh had grown restless. What was the point of being one in a billion if he couldn’t use his abilities? He wished he could use his powers to prevent Azabeth’s sacrifice, but he knew that trying to change the past would only bring him grief. Azabeth had been destined to die, or so she believed, and it had indeed come to that. 

It had been absolutely necessary. Josh had still tried to stop her from removing her LCD bracelet, but deep down even he knew it was the only way. Only three LCD bracelets could activate Zoetrope’s improved time machine, which would in turn deliver only one person to Irwin’s lab in the 25th century. 

Time had been running out and there were only four of them, standing six inches high on the floor of the Kirby garage. Josh, being a Time Warrior, didn’t need an LCD bracelet. The others did. 

Prism had gone first. 

Josh still didn’t understand Prism. The alien creature didn’t seem sentient; he’d done little but gargle and whine during their entire quest. 

But when Josh looked into those eyes and heard Prism’s voice, giving consent . . . that’s when he knew he would never understand Prism. His fingers had trembled while removing the bracelet from Prism’s neck. And in a flash of light, their odd little companion was gone. 

Then it was Dr. Zoetrope’s turn. 

Strange, that someone who had so much to live for would choose death. The man was an egotistical jerk, sure, but he was also the most brilliant scientist of the 25th century. Still, defeating Irwin was his life’s goal and with the madman’s ultimate victory on the horizon, Zoetrope simply assured Josh that the Time Warrior would “think of something”, took off his LCD bracelet . . . and that was that. 

Last of all was Azabeth. 

When she reached for her bracelet, Josh nearly lost it. It couldn’t end like this, not after everything they’d gone through together. She didn’t have to die for a world she would never even see. 

Ultimately, though, they both knew in their hearts there was no other way to bring their quest to its conclusion. Azabeth’s race had been enslaved and slaughtered, forced to strip-mine their planet and then eke out a miserable existence in the wasteland they had created. Azabeth would gladly give her own life to free a world, even the world of her enslavers, from the boot heel of tyranny. 

So he kissed her, once, and she was gone. 

The battle that followed against Irwin in the lab was just a blur. Josh could barely remember the Zoetrope of that time coming in afterward and activating the Nullifier. All he could see was Irwin’s armor, shrinking and collapsing as his powers forced it thousands of years into the future. 

His journey over and his friends gone, a desolate Josh had returned to his own time and had met, to his astonishment, Elizabeth Kang, a new transfer student who happened to look exactly like Azabeth, Keeper of the Codes of Kang. 

They’d quickly fallen in love, as if they’d known each other forever. As far as Josh was concerned, though, Elizabeth was not Azabeth. They looked the same, but Josh remembered Azabeth’s bitterness, a result of her life as a half-breed outcast among her own people. That bitterness made her determined to change things and that was something Elizabeth simply didn’t possess. Azabeth had sacrificed her honor and her freedom just to keep Josh alive. Elizabeth would never be able to do that. 

Still, Elizabeth was everything that Azabeth wanted to be: beautiful, graceful, and most of all, accepted. And, by Josh at least, she was loved. 

The blond boy tried to banish these thoughts. He didn’t like dwelling on his adventures through time for too long. There had been some great moments, but in the long run, he could easily wish none of it had ever happened at all. 

A voice calling out his name shook Josh from his grim musings. Looking up, he saw Elizabeth Kang waving at him from the other side of the street, a big smile on her face. 

Smiling back, Josh swerved his bike in her direction, pedaling hard as he crossed the road. 

The distinct sound of squealing tires was his only warning. 

And it wasn’t enough. 

Josh instinctively reached out to stop time . . . and belatedly realized that the twelve hours needed to recharge his powers had not yet passed. 

The Time Warrior was out of time. 

Yet as the car came hurtling toward him it unaccountably slowed and stopped. Elizabeth’s panicked scream trailed off into silence. A shimmering rift opened above Josh and he rose up into it from his ten-speed, only to reemerge almost immediately, floating back down to the same position.

The late model Buick slammed into the bicycle and the teenager, catapulting both into the air. 

“JOSH!” Elizabeth cried as her boyfriend hit the pavement with a sickening thud. She ran out into the street, dropping to her knees beside him. Blood caked his mouth and his blue-green eyes stared sightlessly up at the sky. Elizabeth checked for a pulse and her eyes went wide when she couldn’t find one. 

“Noooooo!” she wept, burying her face in his chest. 

ΩΩΩΩ

When this is over, you be packed and ready to go. 

Xena’s words played over and over again in Solan’s mind as he hurriedly grabbed his few belongings and stuffed them into his rucksack. 

Despite the fact that he should be utterly terrified, despite the fact that Kaleipus, the only family he’d ever known, was gone, Solan had never been happier. 

When this is over, you be packed and ready to go.

His friend Xena had promised him that when the crisis was ended, when she defeated Callisto, she’d come back for him. And they’d be together. Xena, Gabrielle and him. A family. 

It was hard to believe that he’d once hated her, once taken up his father’s sword against her, blaming her for the death of his parents. But that Xena was long gone and this one was nothing less than a second mother to him. 

When this is over, you be packed and ready to go. 

He didn’t want to stay here anymore. There was nothing left for him. Just a few people who felt they owed it to Kaleipus to look after his “son”. But they didn’t feel real to Solan, not the way Xena did. She was the only one he trusted, the only one who didn’t treat him like a baby. She saw things in a different way than Kaleipus had and she was really smart. 

The door to the hut swung open.

“I’m almost ready!” Solan called, wondering how Xena had been able to defeat Callisto so quickly.

“Solan?” a young voice asked. 

The long-haired boy froze, looking up at the doorway. Standing there was a little girl, a few years younger than him. She had strawberry blonde hair and bright blue eyes that seemed to shine in the darkness. 

When this is over, you be packed and ready to go. 

“That’s right,” he responded cautiously. He never seen this girl before . . . yet she couldn’t have arrived at the village after Xena, or Kaleipus would have mentioned her. 

The girl smiled and there was something in her expression that chilled Solan to the bone. 

“Safest place there is,” she said, as if she were quoting someone. 

Before Solan could ponder the meaning of those words the girl narrowed her eyes at him . . . and suddenly it felt like he was being strangled. 

Shock rooted him to the spot, his mind awhirl as he fought for oxygen. His hands scrambled frantically at his throat, seeking to break the suffocating grasp, but there was nothing physical holding his windpipe closed. The girl strolled slowly toward him, keeping her icy gaze locked on him. 

She was doing this! He stumbled forward to attack her, to stop her, his fingers closing around her throat. In response she shoved him in the chest and though her strength was no greater than one would expect he was already weak from lack of air. He tumbled backward, slamming painfully against the altar. Spots danced about his darkening field of vision and Solan realized he was about to lose consciousness. He reached out for something, anything, but there was no escape. 

He had time for one last thought,

When this is over . . .

And he fell still. 

As Hope turned to leave, satisfied with her work, she suddenly froze in place. 

A portal opened beneath Solan and he soundlessly fell through it. 

Hope turned back around, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong, but Solan was lying dead just where she had left him. 

Chuckling evilly, the Daughter of Dahak departed. 

ΩΩΩΩ

Hell had broken loose. And Justin Stewart was right in the middle of it. 

The day had started off normally enough. His dad had gone into the office to get some work done so Justin had flipped on the television. A live news report interrupted the Saturday morning cartoons, saying that Angel Grove was under massive alien attack.

His first thought had been to try to contact the Astro Rangers, but he quickly shook it off. They still treated him like a little kid. He told them after the last time that he would always be there for them, but either they hadn’t taken him seriously or they just didn’t think they needed his help. The destruction on the screen, however, showed that the people of Angel Grove needed all the help they could get. 

Going upstairs to his dresser the brown-haired teen took out his Turbo key. It wasn’t really his; it had actually belonged to his Eltarian android duplicate. The androids had been destroyed when Dark Specter conquered Eltar, but Storm Blaster had somehow managed to smuggle the Turbo Key away. It was identical to his own Key, which lay drained somewhere in the ruins of the Power Chamber. 

“Shift into Turbo!” Justin shouted, thrusting his key into the device that materialized on his wrist and turning it firmly. The Power enveloped him and he grew to his adult height of six foot two. Using his communicator he called Storm Blaster and explained the situation. The sentient Jeep arrived at his house in mere moments and got him to Angel Grove in record time. They raced into the outskirts of the city, ready for anything. 

Or so Justin thought. 

The news reports had said “massive attack”, but even the pictures shown hadn’t truly conveyed the extent of the devastation. Everywhere he looked there were panicking civilians, ruined cars and flaming buildings. Small fighters were roaring through the city, shooting at people and vehicles. 

There seemed to be an entire legion of enemy troops on the ground. Quantrons, Ashley had called them once. They were supposed to be tougher than Piranhatrons or Chromites. 

Justin used his Hand Blasters to gun down the first group that assaulted him, but when a near-miss almost took a screaming woman’s head off he put his guns away. With all of the fleeing people choking the streets it was just too risky for him to use his laser weaponry. His only option was to take these robots out the old-fashioned way. 

Dismounting from Storm Blaster and ordering it to ferry as many people as it could to safety, the Blue Ranger called up his Turbo Blade and threw himself into the fray. 

Justin had never really liked fighting with swords. Tommy had been the genius in that area and now Justin wished he’d paid closer attention to his former leader’s lessons. 

He managed to cut down Quantron after Quantron, but their numbers never seemed to lessen. Nor did they tire, something the Turbo Ranger soon wished he could say about himself. Only the occasional glimpse of Storm Blaster speeding through the streets and loaded with civilians gave him the strength to fight on. 

It took him half an hour to clear 5th Street and Justin couldn’t help sighing at the sight of a new trio of Quantrons turning the corner and advancing toward him. He wearily readied his Turbo Blade, preparing to meet their charge. As they approached one of the fighters swooped low over them and blasted the blue-clad defender with its cannons. 

Justin went flying back into the rubble-strewn avenue, his morph falling away from him in a shower of sparks. He was just a human again, and an exhausted one at that. 

The three Quantrons loomed above him. The middle one raised its sword overhead and brought the weapon down on the fourteen year-old. Before the implement of death could touch the boy’s flesh, however, time came to an abrupt halt. Two tentacles emerged seamlessly from the ground on the left and right. They wrapped around the frozen child’s waist and pulled him down through the asphalt, which gave way like water. Then Justin rose back up from the ground. 

The Quantron’s blade split the boy’s skull in two. Leaving the corpse behind the robots continued on their path, conquering all in the name of Dark Specter and Queen Astronema. 

ΩΩΩΩ

“You failed!” the Colin, the Anointed, hissed. Worse, the upstart had failed and survived! Colin had been relying on at least one of them perishing, if not both. It hadn’t occurred to him that this rebellious newcomer might fail to kill the Slayer and yet still avoid dying. 

The blond vampire called William the Bloody, better known by his nickname Spike, dropped to one knee and bowed his head. “I, uh . . . I offer penance,” he said, with a distinct lack of sincerity. 

Gregory shouted, “Penance? You should lay down your life! Our numbers are depleted; the feast of St. Vigious has been ruined by your impatience!” 

Spike looked from Gregory to Colin, sitting on his throne. 

“I was rash,” Spike agreed, nodding slightly. “And if I had to do it all over again-” He suddenly broke into evil laughter. “Who am I kidding?” 

The vampire rose to his feet, eyes blazing, and Colin felt a tremor of fear go through him. “I would do it EXACTLY the same, only I’d do THIS first!” 

Lunging forward, Spike seized the Anointed one, throwing the small, dark-haired boy over his shoulder. 

“No!” Colin protested, struggling in vain. 

As Spike roughly carried the Anointed to the cage hanging nearby Gregory attacked him, only to be kicked back and knocked out. The useless fool! If Absalom were still here this wouldn’t be happening! 

Shoving Colin into the cage, Spike slammed and locked the door. The he began pulling on the chain, lifting the cage up from the floor toward the early morning sunlight streaming in above from the warehouse’s broken window. 

“From now on, we’re gonna have a little less ritual,” he vowed as he pulled on the chain, “and a little more fun!” 

With a final tug Spike hoisted the cage up into the sunlight. 

A bare instant before Colin would have burst into flame and ash, only split seconds after a scream escaped his lips, he disappeared without combusting. No one noticed, as charred residue still drifted down to the floor of the cage. 

Satisfied with his work, Spike strolled over to his insane vampire lover, Drusilla, and took her hands. 

“Let’s see what’s on T.V.” he suggested. 

ΩΩΩΩ 

Kenny had been with his newest guardian for two weeks now, long enough to realize that this warm Friday afternoon was the right time to kill her. Her stupid boyfriend was at work and they were alone in her large, Victorian style house. She was in the studio painting and wouldn’t see him enter; the front of her easel faced the doorway. Even when she sensed him, he doubted she would turn around. He had taken special note of how focused she was while she was working. 

Yes, the circumstances were as perfect as he could reasonably expect. His decision made the eight hundred and twenty-year old reached into his backpack and brought out the short sword he had hidden there. Like him, Anne was an Immortal. She didn’t age, didn’t get sick and would heal with miraculous speed from virtually any injury. She would even return to life after being killed - - unless her head was cut off. Then she would truly die and her power would be transferred to the Immortal who had slain her in a violent maelstrom known as a Quickening. 

Since the beginning of time Immortals had dueled with each other, seeking to win the Prize that awaited the last among them. Kenny had never fought a traditional Immortal duel and he never intended to. His first death had been at the hands of sadistic Normans when he was only twelve years old and since then he had remained trapped in his unchanging child’s body. He would never grow any further, would never have the size and strength of an adult. He couldn’t compete in the Game as other Immortals did, but his first guardian had taught him a different way to fight. 

Kenny kept a cautious eye out for Anne as he descended the stairs, his blade held at his side. Though he needed a sword, his appearance had always been his real weapon. With his light blond hair and crystal blue eyes he was the picture of innocence. Those Immortals who still deluded themselves about the Game were always quick to approach him and happy to swallow his tearful tale of how he had died a year ago in a car accident and had been on the run ever since. They took him into their homes and promised to help him. A long, long time ago he had been foolish enough to believe such promises. Now he knew better. 

No Immortal could be trusted. His kind was engaged in an unceasing battle to the death. In the end there could be only one and eventually every Immortal realized that basic truth. He had known it for centuries and had been making his own way to the Prize, one head at a time. 

A pang of hunger shot through Kenny when he reached the studio door. It was lunchtime, but he didn’t way to delay this any further. Besides, he would have to get used to missing meals again. Life on the road was hard for an apparent kid, even one with his cunning and experience. 

His sword held tightly in both hands, Kenny silently entered the large, airy room that served as Anne’s “office”. Circular windows set high in the far wall cast down beams of radiance, crowning the picture window which dominated the chamber. The otherwise Spartan walls were hung with Anne’s past creations. Together they made for a panorama of bucolic splendor which vaguely reminded Kenny of the England of his youth. 

Anne Winslow was almost directly ahead, her back to him as she labored at her latest work. She was a short, willowy woman with auburn hair and a pretty face who looked to be in her early thirties. She had been living under her current identity for the last twenty years and had told Kenny wistfully that the time was coming when it would be best for her to disappear and reappear elsewhere under a different name. She had assured Kenny she would take him with her and she wanted her boyfriend Robert to accompany them as well. Robert knew of her Immortality and understood her need to leave, though he was loath to abandon his own job with McKenzie, Hackett and Shane. 

The thought of Robert made Kenny scowl as he slipped toward his target. He had done his best to drive the man away. He had even attempted to play on the tension between them over Anne’s planned departure. Nothing had worked. After he took care of Anne, Robert would be next. If not for him he could have taken Anne’s head days ago! 

Anne sensed him approaching, feeling the peculiar tingle that warned Immortals of each other’s presence, but she continued to daub at the canvas in front of her. 

“I’ll have lunch for you in a minute, Kenny. How does hamburgers and fries sound?” she asked. 

Half a second later her half-finished landscape was splattered with a warm spray of arterial blood.

Licking his lips, Kenny readied himself for the mixture of agony and ecstasy that a Quickening entailed. Lightning flickered around the room, setting several painting alight. The windows blew outward in a shower of glass and the jars of paint went off like bombs. Kenny screamed his throat raw as power flowed into him and the familiar sensations ravaged his body. Finally he dropped to the floor, panting and drained. 

In his exhaustion he didn’t at first recognize the voice, but the words were clear. 

“Anne! My God, Anne!”

Rolling over Kenny saw Robert Venders at the door, his eyes wide with horror and disbelief. What the hell was he doing here!?! He was supposed to be at his office! Kenny tried to think of what to say to the man. Could he blame this on another Immortal, an intruder who had already fled? He opened his mouth to do just that, but Robert’s gaze had already gone from Anne’s body, to Kenny . . . to the bloodied short sword he had dropped next to her. 

A look of such fury slipped onto Robert’s face that for the first time in decades Kenny found himself frightened of a mortal. He lunged for his sword, but Robert was already moving and his shoe caught Kenny’s head in a terrific blow. Semiconscious, he felt the sword being wrenched away from him. He looked up to see Robert drawing the blade back like a baseball bat. Screaming in denial Kenny threw his arms up in front of his face, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. The sword swept down, slowing to a stop when it was halfway to the boy.

A shimmering appeared in the air above Kenny, coalescing into a plane of light which swept down through him before vanishing. The interrupted motion resumed and the scything blade sheared through the child’s wrists and neck.

Kenny’s death brought no second, undirected Quickening, no further release of immortal power. If he had been thinking clearly Robert would have recognized the discrepancy. But standing over the corpses of the woman he had loved and her murderer, holding the sword which had killed them both, he couldn’t even think of what to tell the police when they arrived. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Josephine McCormick (Jo to everyone but her teachers and mother) was both fiercely excited and more than a little sad. This was it, the day she, her brother Drew and his best friend Roland had been working toward for so long. They were finally going to defeat the Crustaceans!

They’d been gaining the upper hand for a while now. When Mega-Nukus lost control of Boron the balance of power had shifted decisively against him; and when Les Fortunes, the cartoonist who had created him, had voluntarily returned to prison the evil mastermind had lost his source of monsters 

The one stumbling block had been the fact that Mega-Nukus had destroyed the paper he originated from, leaving them nowhere to send him back to. Their willing sacrifice of their Mega Spectra powers, however, had allowed Flabber, Art and Les Fortunes to create a single copy of a special edition comic to which they could banish the Crustaceans. 

Somehow Mega-Nukus had learned of the comic’s creation and he had launched an assault on Hillhurst with all of his remaining forces in an attempt to destroy it. The battle had been terrific, especially now that none of them could match Mega-Nukus’ raw power. In the end, though, the combination of the Beetleborgs, Astralborgs, Boron and Roboborg had been too much for the super-villain. He and his two lieutenants, Horribelle and Vilor, had been badly beaten and had fled. The rest of his army had been utterly destroyed. 

Drew had insisted that they needed to finish Mega-Nukus while he was still weak; they couldn’t afford to wait and give him time to recover. Leaving the Astralborgs to guard the precious comic, the Beetleborgs had mounted their Sector Cycles and raced out to the cemetery, on the theory that the Crustaceans would have fled to their home base. Neither Boron nor Roboborg would fit into the Crustaceans’ underground lair, so Drew had ordered them to guard the entrance and blast any Crustacean that tried to escape. The three of them had then descended into their enemy’s final redoubt. Soon Mega-Nukus would be nothing more than a memory and a flashy illustration. 

Sadly, he would take their Beetleborg powers with him when he went. Without Mega-Nukus the spell which allowed Jo, Drew and Roland to become their favorite comic book characters would fail and they would just be ordinary kids again. 

Jo was going to miss being a Beetleborg. She would miss the rush of transforming, the excitement of battling Mega-Nukus and his followers, and the thrill of victory! She would especially miss the super-strength she had gained as an unexpected side effect of the magic. That little bonus had come in very handy for the thirteen year-old tomboy, and its loss was something to mourn.

Nonetheless this was the way things had to be, and if Jo was sorry their adventures were coming to an end, she was glad to have had them in the first place. Head held high, the Platinum Purple Beetleborg stepped forward, with her Chromium Gold brother to her right and their Titanium Silver friend on Drew’s left. Before them, at the far end of the cavern, were Mega-Nukus and his last two minions. 

“It’s over, Mega-Nukus” Drew announced confidently. 

“Yes, for you!” the cornered creature snarled. He lunged forward, his flaming scarlet scimitar clashing against Drew’s Metallix Lancer. The ichthyoidal Vilor followed his master’s lead, thrusting his trident at Roland’s head. The tall black boy dodged aside and struck back with his Metallix Grappler. Jo herself was left to face the insectile Horribelle. 

An overhand chop with her Metallix Baton was blocked by her foe’s right sword. Horribelle’s answering riposte with her left blade cut across Jo’s midsection, raising sparks from the inch-thick metallic armor which encased the girl.

Staggering a little, Jo cut loose with a kick to the stomach. Horribelle doubled over and Jo brought her right knee up into her opponent’s face, simultaneously using her Baton to knock the sword out of the villainess’ left hand. 

Reeling back Horribelle spat a stream of green liquid across Jo’s visor, completely cutting off her vision. She wiped frantically at it with her left hand, but the substance clung tenaciously to her helmet. Horribelle was about to strike and the Jo couldn’t even see to defend herself! 

Thinking quickly she did a forward sweep with her right leg and toppled the surprised Horribelle. Dropping to her knees Jo slammed her Metallix Baton down into the space in front of her and was rewarded with a groan. She hit again and again at her prostrate foe, the speed and power of her blows more than compensating for their lack of accuracy.

The gunk coating her eye-slits vanished with Horribelle, doubtless reappearing as a drawing on the printed pages of the new comic. Jo sighed in relief and looked around to see how Drew and Roland were doing. Titanium Silver appeared to be holding his own against Vilor, while her brother’s futuristic pike was definitely giving Mega-Nukus problems.

Jo moved to flank the evil overlord, her weapon at the ready. Seeing her approach Mega-Nukus’ desperation at last began to show. With a curse he unleashed a point-blank energy blast into Drew. Her sibling was knocked to the floor, his golden breastplate scorched and blackened. 

“Drew!” she cried and threw herself at Mega-Nukus. She slashed at his tri-horned head with her Baton, but he ducked her swing. To one side she could see Drew struggling to his feet. She realized with relief that Mega-Nukus’ blast must not have been strong enough to breach her brother’s armor. In that instant of distraction Mega-Nukus seized her Baton and yanked her toward him. 

Off balance Jo started to tumble and stopped in mid-air, her body tilted at an impossible angle. A cocoon of white radiance formed around her, shrinking to mold itself to her form and seeming to seep through her armor. 

Her momentum returned and the Platinum Purple Beetleborg was impaled on Mega-Nukus’ enchanted scimitar, the tip penetrating far enough to pierce her heart.

The kids had assumed they were living out an action-adventure story, like in the comics they loved. It had never occurred to any of them that their tale might actually be a tragedy. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Comparable scenes played out in numerous other realities. In all twenty apparent children were snatched away from the brink of death. Mindless simulacrums, genetically indistinguishable from the originals, perished in their place. No one on any of the nineteen worlds involved suspected a switch had been made. The “deceased” were grieved for, or not, and their bodies appropriately disposed of. 

The being responsible for their abduction took his prizes to the location he had prepared for them. They all awoke at the same instant to find themselves seated around a large, circular table. It was made of solid oak and the chairs they sat in were ornately carved cherry wood. The room itself was little larger than the table, its surfaces consisting of a luminous white substance which gave off ample light. 

There were no doors.

The kids looked about in bewilderment, none of them knowing where they were nor recognizing any of the others. As the inevitable questions began they were interrupted by an oddly resonant, electronic-sounding voice. 

“GREETINGS, CONTESTANTS! BE AT PEACE; YOU ARE IN NO DANGER AT PRESENT. BY MY HAND EACH OF YOU WAS SAVED FROM THE DEATH WHICH AWAITED YOU IN YOUR OWN WORLD AND BROUGHT HERE, SO THAT YOU MIGHT FIGHT FOR YOUR LIVES! I AM YOUR HOST AND SAVIOR, BUT YOU MAY ADDRESS ME SIMPLY AS ARCHON, THE OVERSEER OF THIS TOURNAMENT.

THE PREMISE OF MY CONTEST IS SIMPLE: THE SURVIVAL OF THE FITTEST. TOGETHER WE WILL DISCOVER WHO AMONG YOU IS THE MOST WORTHY OF CONTINUED EXISTENCE. EVERY DAY AFTER BREAKFAST I WILL SEND YOU TO THE BATTLEFIELD, A VARYING ENVIRONMENT OF MY OWN CREATION. THERE YOU WILL ENCOUNTER AND STRIVE AGAINST EACH OTHER IN MORTAL COMBAT. EIGHT HOURS LATER THOSE STILL LIVING WILL BE RETURNED HERE FOR SUSTENANCE AND REST. THIS WILL CONTINUE UNTIL ONLY ONE OF YOU REMAINS, AND THAT ONE WILL WIN HIS OR HER FREEDOM.

NATURALLY I WISH THE COMPETITION TO BE A FAIR ONE. I HAVE THEREFORE GIVEN YOU THE EQUIVALENT OF A GOOD NIGHT’S SLEEP, HEALED THOSE OF YOU WHO WERE INJURED AND ARRANGED FOR YOU TO BE ABLE TO COMMUNICATE WITH EACH OTHER IN SPITE OF YOUR DIFFERING LANGUAGES. I HAVE TAKEN CARE TO ENSURE THAT YOU ARE ON EQUAL FOOTING, SEPARATED ONLY BY YOUR OWN SKILLS AND ABILITIES.   
SOON YOUR STRUGGLE WILL COMMENCE. FIRST, HOWEVER, YOU MAY HAVE YOUR BREAKFAST. EAT HEARTY; FOR SOME OF YOU THIS WILL SURELY BE YOUR LAST MEAL.”

Fine china, polished silverware and elegant crystal goblets appeared on the table before the twenty. The individual plates and bowls held the favored breakfast food of each child, while the goblets were filled near to the brim with their recipient’s preferred beverage. 

For a long moment dead silence reigned in the chamber. Then the majority of the kids erupted in a cacophony of shouted queries and protests. 

“You gotta be kidding!”

“Only ONE?!?”

“Why are you doing this?!?”

“How dare you-”

“You can’t-”

“I won’t-”

“What-”

This time Archon’s voice was deafeningly loud.

“I WILL NOT BE PLAGUED WITH QUESTIONS, NOR DOES THIS INGRATITUDE PLEASE ME! I HAD EXPECTED BETTER FROM SUCH A SELECT GROUP OF YOUNG WARRIORS.”

At this a long-haired blond boy, dressed in a rough vest and boots of skin, opened his mouth as though to speak, but Archon allowed him no opening to interject, continuing on without pause. 

“THOSE WHO DO NOT WISH TO SEIZE THIS OPPORTUNITY WILL UNDOUBTEDLY FIND THAT OTHERS AMONG YOU ARE LESS RELUCTANT. PERHAPS THEY WILL GRANT YOU THE MERCY OF A QUICK DEATH. 

PERHAPS NOT.

NOW I SUGGEST YOU FINISH YOUR MEAL. YOU WILL NEED THE ENERGY.” 

No one moved. Then the only obvious non-human, a male with rough brown skin, coal-black hair and a heavily-ridged forehead, glanced disdainfully around him and deliberately tipped his glass of blood wine over. A dark-haired adolescent in an outrageously colorful red, yellow and green costume with a black eyehole mask followed up by smashing his own plate to the floor. 

“VERY WELL,” Archon sighed, his voice at a conversational volume again. “WE SHALL START AT ONCE IF THAT IS YOUR DESIRE. GOOD LUCK!”

And with that the children vanished. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ


	2. The First Day

At first Jason Todd thought he’d been struck blind for his act of defiance. Then torches set in the twin wall brackets on either side of him flared to life. When his eyes adjusted to the light he saw that he was standing in the middle of a ten by ten stone passage running straight both ways, at least as far as he could see by torchlight. 

Walking over to the nearest wall he slammed his right fist into it, pulling the blow just enough to keep from breaking anything. The instant pain he felt at the physical expression of his anger and frustration was nothing, not compared to what the Joker’s crowbar had done to him. It seemed like only minutes ago that the madman had broken who knows how many of his bones and had left him writhing in agony. Now he was fully healed, but if Archon expected him to be grateful then he was just as crazy as the Joker was.

He’d finally found his mother, his real mother! He didn’t care that she’d been working with the Joker or that she’d betrayed him to the arch-criminal; none of that mattered. When he’d crawled over to release her from her ropes afterward she could have run for it and left him behind. Instead she’d stayed to help him, to make sure they both got out of the warehouse before the bomb went off. She had stayed for him! 

And in doing so she’d sacrificed her own life. His last action had been to throw himself in front of her, trying to shield her from the bomb blast with his own body. Yet if Archon had snatched him away right before he died, then his Mom had died alone, unprotected. He had only just found her and now, thanks to the Joker and Archon, he had lost her forever 

Who had asked Archon to interfere?!? If he wanted to save people who were about to die, then why hadn’t he saved Sheila Haywood? 

Of course the answer to that was that he didn’t care about saving people. It sounded like he’d only brought Jason and the other kids here so he could have the sick fun of watching them kill each other. Archon was just another psycho, no better than the usual crazies he and Batman fought. 

Admittedly, teleportation and healing did put Archon outside of the class of villains they usually dealt with; someone who could do those sorts of things was really more in Superman’s league. Instead of bothering the Super Boy-Scout, though, this creep had for some reason chosen to play games with him, and Jason was going to make Archon pay for that mistake.

Neither Archon nor the Joker would get away with what they had done to him, and to her. As Robin he had spent the last few years dealing out justice to wrong-doers and he’d gotten very good at it. Of course here there didn’t seem to be any authorities to hand Archon over to once he was beaten. Then again, when had it ever done any good to hand the Joker over to the authorities? No, he would have to deliver their punishments himself, but he could do that. 

He’d done it once before. 

First, though, he needed to find a way out of here. The second Robin removed a miniaturized flash-light from his utility belt and switched it on. He started down the corridor, the powerful beam from his device piercing the shadow beyond the torches. To his surprise when he reached the edge of the torches’ effective range another pair ignited further down, illuminating the new section.

So this was Archon’s Battlefield. What a stupid name for an underground complex! 

Jason strode forward impatiently. He had no idea where he was going, but sitting still was not part of his nature or temperament. Maybe if he looked around he could find a hidden access hatch, some way in to Archon’s control room. All these “powers” were probably the result of advanced technology. If he could surprise the sonofabitch, rip the psycho away from his toys . . . the dark-haired teen smiled grimly, his blue eyes carefully scrutinizing the walls. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

On the far side of the maze another contestant was moving with markedly less speed. Partially this was due to the odd construction of the corridor he was navigating. It continually zigzagged, going five feet forward, then five feet to the right before returning to its original direction and repeating the pattern. The passage was also quite narrow, barely three feet wide.

The rest of the reason for Solan’s slower progress was that his mind was still reeling from his recent experiences. Nothing made sense anymore!

Xena had said that Callisto had wanted to kill him. But the little girl who had found him couldn’t possibly have been Callisto! Who was she, and how could she nearly slay him by staring at him? 

His right hand slowly crept up to his throat as he relived the terrifying feeling of suffocation. So close to dying . . . Archon had said he WOULD have died, if he hadn’t been brought here. To spirit him away in time, to make him disappear and reappear elsewhere, this Archon had to have powers akin to those of a god. Or perhaps he was a god in disguise. Bringing all of these kids together to fight actually did sound like something Ares might do. But the God of War never would have included him in this because Ares would have known that he wasn’t a fighter.

Once he had fancied himself such, a warrior who would avenge his parents’ death by killing Xena. That was before he discovered that she hadn’t murdered his father; Dagnine had. When he was captured by Dagnine’ men Xena had come to rescue him, even thought he’d tried to kill her. She had saved his life and struck down Dagnine herself. She had proven how much she had changed from her days as a ruthless conqueror. 

After that he’d realized that he wasn’t a warrior and had no longer wanted to be one. In the end he had even thrown away his father’s sword, the only thing of Borias’ he had possessed. 

If only he had that sword now! Then at least he’d have something to defend himself with. Or better yet, his staff; he’d been learning how to use one ever since he had met Gabrielle. As it was, however, he was completely unarmed, with experienced opponents out for his blood. 

It might have been wiser to stay where he had appeared, but the close quarters of that dead end had felt too much like a tomb-which is what it would have become if anyone had come along and found him there. He was NOT going to die like a cornered rat! By moving he would at least gain some room to maneuver.

Another turn back to the left and the tunnel abruptly opened up, expanding out to around ten by ten feet. A little further on there was a darkened opening to another passage in the right wall. Straight ahead the magically firing torches were already lit as far as the eye could see. Which wasn’t very far, since the menacing form holding the shining blade was near enough to block most of Solan’s view.

The Grecian stopped dead, surprise and fear washing over him. This figure was about his height, but that was all which could be said for certain; the strange outfit it wore covered and concealed everything else. Its predominant color was blue, with a white belt, boots, gloves and bands around the upper arms. A yellow rectangle was at the center of the chest and another just under the neck. The helmet was all-encompassing, with a smooth, shiny black substance where the eyes should be and up on the forehead, and silvery metal patches over the mouth and ears. The short sword clutched in the right hand was up and at the ready. 

Solan’s step backwards was entirely instinctive, as was the shameful, quickly-stifled urge to flee. Trying to run was pointless. The way he had come could not be traversed quickly and it led nowhere. Ahead his adversary was closer to the junction than he was. Standing fast was his only choice. 

The other person reacted to his abortive retreat. 

“Wait!” he urged in a light but unmistakably masculine voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Solan’s eyes flicked from the faceless one to the sword, a cue not missed by the speaker. Moving with slow, exaggerated care he set his weapon down on the stone floor. Straightening he held his upturned hands out in a gesture of peace, an action which slowed Solan’s hammering heart considerably.

“What’s your name?”

“I am Solan. Who are you? You weren’t at the table with the others.” None of the other kids had been attired in this fashion. 

“Yes, I was,” the stranger insisted. He reached up and removed his helmet, revealing himself to be the brown-haired boy who had been seated on Solan’s right.

“Justin Stewart,” he announced, tucking his helmet under his left arm and extending his right with a friendly smile. 

Hesitating only slightly, Solan took a few steps forward and clasped the offered forearm in his right hand, in accordance with the custom. The other boy’s smile faltered, giving way to a questioning expression. Freeing his forearm he took hold of Solan’s hand and pumped it up and down. The action was decidedly strange, as was the gloved hand itself. The texture of the glove was remarkable; it was incredibly smooth. Now that Solan was closer he could see that the material of Justin’s garment was unlike anything he was familiar with. It exhibited firmness foreign to cloth or skin whilst displaying a flexibility metal could not possess.

And those colors! Had he ever beheld such a vibrant blue or pure white in a manmade object? 

His curiosity now in the forefront he had to ask, “Where did you get those clothes?”

“This is my uniform. I’m a Power Ranger!”

Something of Solan’s incomprehension must have shown on his face, for the other boy was quick to elaborate.

“The Power Rangers are an order of warriors who defend the innocent and protect peaceful planets from conquerors. We battle beings like this Archon.”

“You fight gods?!?” Solan demanded in open disbelief. 

“He’s not a god,” Justin contradicted firmly. 

“How else could he do all of this? See us about to die and prevent it? Make us appear wherever he wants?”

“That’s just monitoring and teleportation. Rangers can do that too.”

“Then . . . you could make yourself reappear at your home? You could escape from this place?” Solan asked in awe, his heartbeat accelerating once more. 

“No,” Justin admitted, biting his lower lip. “I can’t teleport. I can’t even fully access the Morphin Grid from here.” 

Again Justin launched into an explanation. “The Morphin Grid is the source of our Ranger powers. It creates our costumes and weapons, allows us to teleport and enhances us physically when we morph. Usually when I morph I grow over half a foot taller and about ten times stronger, with armor that’s almost impenetrable. But this time I didn’t grow at all, I only feel a little stronger than normal, and except for my helmet my armor is no better than ordinary spandex.”

“Archon spoke to me right after I morphed,” he continued grimly, “and told me that my full powers would give me too much of an advantage. He said this would be fair.” 

“So you’re trapped too.” 

“Right now I am, but I will find a way to escape.”

“Are you going to kill the rest of us to win your freedom?” The answer seemed clear, given his behavior so far, but it would still be good to hear it. 

“I’d never do that! I want to free everyone Archon has kidnapped if I can. Saving people is what being a Ranger is all about!” He eyed Solan cautiously. “Would you kill the other kids?” 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Solan replied honestly. “I don’t even know why I was brought here.”

“Where did he take you from?”

“I lived in the Centaur village northwest of Athens.” 

“Wait, you lived where?”

“In the Centaur village. My mother gave me to my adoptive father Kaleipus when I was just a baby.”

A confused expression had settled onto Justin’s face. “But Centaurs are mythical. They don’t exist.” 

“Of course they exist!” Solan countered indignantly. “I’ve lived with them my whole life!” 

“Then unless the history books and archeologists are completely wrong, you’re not from the past at all; you’re from a parallel world,” the other boy exclaimed softly after a brief stretch of silence. 

The interest which had previously enlivened Solan’s face was now more than mirrored in Justin’s. He looked ready to ask a dozen more questions, but abruptly shifted to a different topic. 

“I want to find the other kids like us, the ones who won’t play Archon’s game. If we all get together we can protect each other. We can fend off the violent ones and maybe even convince them to stop. What do you say? Do you want to team up?” 

The other boy did seem sincere. And two would certainly be safer than one. Moving around was dangerous, but the more kids they could get to join them, the less danger they would be in. It was a good plan under the circumstances. If he was going to be a part of it, though, he had to be honest. 

“I’ll go with you, but you should know that I’m not a warrior.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been learning how to use a staff, but except for that I haven’t been trained in how to fight.”

“At all?” 

Solan felt his fair skin redden with embarrassment. “I can still take care of myself!” he asserted almost defiantly.

Justin eyed him for a second and nodded. He donned his helmet again. 

“Was your passage a dead-end too?” 

“Yes.”

“Then there’s only one way for us to go.”

Picking up his sword Justin started down the third corridor, with Solan following closely behind him.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Strange. No scent; no prey anywhere. A frustrated growl escaped the black-furred monstrosity’s muzzle. There had to be prey! It would find them. Breaking into a run the werewolf loped down the corridor. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

This was getting him nowhere. He’d been going over every inch of the tunnels he explored and there was no sign of any secret way out, just an endless expanse of gray, featureless stone. It was enough to make a guy sick! And the whole maze layout was getting petty damn frustrating too. He’d already had to retrace his steps four times and now this looked like yet another dead-end. Careful examination failed to yield anything out of the ordinary and Jason swore under his breath as he headed back toward the last intersection. Then someone turned the corner ahead of him. 

It was the alien, the freak with the ridged forehead and rough brown skin. He was holding a very large crescent-shaped blade with both hands, and seemed prepared to use it. He actually snarled as he closed in.

Jason’s hand darted to his utility belt and he flung a gas pellet at the thing. It turned to take the impact on the shoulder and the subsequent explosion of vapor hid it from view. That oughtta take care of whatever it was. 

Then the creature barreled out of the gas cloud like a freight train, heading straight for the second Robin with that wickedly sharp weapon extended out in front of him. The pointed ends of the blade made Jason think of a bull’s horns. 

He dove down and to the right, deliberately entangling his extended left leg with the alien’s as the latter raced toward him. The creature fell forward onto the blunt side of his weapon, grunting at the impact.

In a flash Jason was up and on top of the thing, wrapping his left arm around its throat in a choke-hold. His grip loosened when an elbow slammed back into his midsection and his stranglehold was subsequently broken by his foe. Then the alien bit down hard on his arm. 

Bellowing Jason slammed his right fist into the back of the bastard’s head and yanked his bleeding limb free. The form beneath him bucked violently, throwing Jason to the floor. Both combatants quickly scrambled to their feet and Robin kicked out, connecting with his foe’s stomach. His follow-up kick caught the alien under the chin, snapping its head back and seemingly stunning it.

Abandoning brawling Jason pulled out one of his razor Batarangs, drew it back . . . and hesitated.

Not killing was Bruce’s cardinal rule, one which Jason had always obeyed except for that time with Felipe. Bruce wouldn’t want him to end this alien’s life. In fact, if he made it back to Earth, Bruce would even expect him to spare the Joker, his mother’s murderer.

Screw that! The only reason he had let Dad’s killer keep on breathing was because of Bruce. The Joker wasn’t going to get off so easily. The psychotic clown wouldn’t be sent back to Arkham Asylum for a few weeks or months or however long it would take him to escape this time. No, the Joker was going to die!

And so was anyone else who got in the way! If they tried to kill him he would kill them instead, and to hell with Bruce’s rules! He was through playing around with murderers. 

His choice made Jason slashed the Batarang towards the alien’s throat but the creature had been given enough time to recover. It caught hold of his wrist and twisted his arm out to the side before head-butting him directly in the face. 

The heavily-ridged forehead hit his face like a sledgehammer! Jason staggered unsteadily back, his nose broken and his eyes unfocused. The Batarang tumbled from his suddenly limp fingers and he felt the alien let go of his wrist. The creature grabbed his head instead and brutally slammed it into the stone wall behind him. Jason saw stars, bright red ones. The pain was overwhelming and his body refused to obey his commands. He couldn’t even fight back! His head struck the wall again, and again, and again. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Alexander stopped after his enemy’s skull shattered. Breathing heavily he released the limp dead form, allowing it to flop down in front of him. Despite the ridiculously brightly-colored garb this human had proven a challenging opponent. Of course the boy had clearly possessed no honor, since only a coward would use gas as a weapon. What glory was there in a victory achieved by such means? None! Nonetheless he was fortunate that the gas apparently hadn’t been intended for Klingon physiology. 

Hopefully his other opponents would show more pride. Then again, given that they all seemed to be human, perhaps not. Humans in general had about as much honor as House Duras, whose craven assassins were responsible for sending him to this place.   
Whether his enemies fought honorably or cravenly though, he would show them what an aspiring Klingon warrior could do. 

Alexander Mogh, adopted son of Kurn and shamefully one-fourth human himself, took a few moments to catch his breath. Then he picked up his bat’leth and returned to the last darkened passageway he had seen. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

Fourteen year-old Thomas Coventry had been exploring the strange tunnels he found himself in for hours, the magical torches doing nothing to lessen the young squire’s overwhelming fear and confusion.

His last clear memory before this madness began had been of standing over Sir William’s body, defending his knight from the foul Saracens. He hadn’t known then and didn’t know now if his lord still lived, but the knowledge would have made no difference to his actions. He was Sir William’s squire, and it was his duty to both protect his knight and to ensure that Sir William should receive a proper Christian burial.

Tears pricked his hazel eyes at the thought of the latter duty and he wiped them away impatiently. This was no time for crying like a maiden; he was a man now, had been since first seeing battle in the taking of Acre. Arsuf had been their next target in their quest to free Jerusalem, but Saladin’s men had attacked them on the road. One of their thrown javelins had pierced a joint in Sir William’s armor, and then a Saracen had knocked his lord from the saddle with a slice of a curved sword. 

He had been carrying his lord’s flag and he had thrust the end of the pole into the attacker’s eyes, knocking the man from his horse. He had defended Sir William against another two men with his own sword, cutting one deeply on the arm, and then . . . 

He had found himself seated at that table, with the voice seeming to speak from everywhere around him. “Archon” claimed he had saved them from death, only to command them to fight each other to the death now! 

Father Martin had always said that God put trials before men to test them, but the good Father had never mentioned anything like this! Who was this Archon? Why was he subjecting Thomas and the other children to this trial by arms, and from whence did he derive his power and authority? Was he an agent of God? Or was he in truth a servant of the Adversary? 

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of light ahead of him. Perhaps it was a way out, an opening to the daylight! 

No, he realized with bitter disappointment. It was merely the torches firing ahead of him, as another person approached. 

Thomas held his sword in readiness as he went forward to meet this individual. 

He looked to be about Thomas’ age, but his skin was darker, like a Saracen’s. His hair was black as midnight and his clothing was exceedingly strange, looking to be a suit of cotton armor. In his right hand was a wooden sword, with fragments of sharp black rock embedded along the length. The boy sneered at him, and Thomas felt his own lip curl in an answering expression. Then the other adolescent charged toward him. 

Thomas parried the first strike, his blade of fine steel shattering one of the black-rock shards. He threw the other boy’s sword back and struck at his enemy’s head, only to find his own strike blocked. Their weapons clashed a few more times as they tried to get around each other’s guard. 

Then the wooden sword caught him above the left knee, the sharp rock slicing into his flesh. He dropped to one knee, the other boy looming over him. 

Desperately Thomas thrust forward with the tip of his blade, seemingly taking his enemy by surprise and driving his sword deeply into his foe’s chest. His enemy collapsed with a wet, gurgling sound and as Thomas knelt panting he saw life leave those dark eyes.

Tearing off strips from his tabard Thomas bandaged his wound as best he could. It hurt, badly, but he had suffered worse in his training. The question was whether or not it would still bear his weight.

Slowly he stood, wincing. His wounded leg trembled, but held beneath him. Sighing with relief he began to limp forward. He got about five feet further down the tunnel and stopped, glancing back at the body behind him. 

It was the first time he had killed someone, and it bothered him that his feat of arms had been done in this context. The Kings’ Crusade was a holy quest, whereas this strange contest lacked both the Crusade’s noble goal and its clarity of purpose. Judging by what Archon had said they didn’t seem to be fighting for anything; they were only fighting to preserve their own lives from each other. And that was only because this Archon had forced them into conflict! 

Nonetheless he couldn’t suppress a feeling of pride in having triumphed in battle. He was sure that Sir William would have been proud of him.

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

Over the last few hours Justin had kept up a steady flow of conversation with his new companion. It’d been clear that the younger boy was freaked out, and who could blame him? This experience had to be especially scary for someone whose culture had no concept of teleportation or of technology in general.

Not that things weren’t frightening enough even for a Power Ranger. The situation was as bad as any from the good old days against Divatox, and talking didn’t only reassure Solan. 

It was honestly fascinating listening to the other boy detail his world! Lingering doubts about his veracity were soon laid to rest; Solan really did come from a reality where the supposed Greek myths were true. 

Of course twentieth century Earth sounded equally fantastic to the Grecian, who showed a gratifying awe and wonder at tales of everyday life in 1998. 

Frequently their excited dialogue was enough to push thoughts of the current predicament into the mental background. When was the last time he had spoken with someone at this length? Probably not since T.J., Carlos, Ashley and Cassie had gone off into space. Friends hadn’t been easy to come by at the new school. He just couldn’t seem to connect with any of his peers, not that he’d ever been great at that to begin with. His intellect separated him from those his own age, while older teens saw him as just a kid. Terrific as it was being with Dad again, he was much lonelier than he had been in Angel Grove. 

When they came upon the first already-lit passage at a four-way junction they both abruptly fell silent. Then Justin thought better of it. What was the point of being quiet? 

“HELLO!” he shouted. “Can anyone hear me?”

“What are you doing?!?” Solan demanded in a frantic whisper.

“We need to find the others, not hide from them,” Justin explained. “This is the fastest way to bring whoever lit these torches.”

Solan didn’t look convinced and when Justin saw who his shout had brought, he began to have misgivings as well. 

About fifty feet to the left a teenager appeared from around a corner. He was tall, with fiery red hair and tanned skin. He wore a simple white tunic and sandals. In his left hand was a net with weighted ends; in his right, a trident. He gazed appraisingly at them. Then he moved forward. 

Shifting himself deliberately to stand in front of Solan Justin called out to the boy, “We’re not going to hurt you.”

There was no reply. 

“We don’t have to do what Archon says. We don’t have to kill each other!”

The steady advance continued unabated. 

“Say something!”

Finally the red-head spoke. “You are a fool,” he proclaimed scathingly. 

Abandoning any hope of a peaceful resolution Justin took action. His foe’s probable tactic here was obvious and might well succeed if something wasn’t done to change the odds. Reaching out with his free hand Justin snatched a torch from its bracket at his left and threw it underarm at the other boy.

The torch landed in the net and the redhead instinctively dropped his now-alight weapon. Justin charged forward in the interim, parrying a hasty trident thrust with his blade. Twisting the head of the trident aside he pivoted on his left heel and kicked his opponent hard in the arm. With a grunt the teen let go of the weapon, sending it clattering to the floor. 

Justin brandished his sword threateningly and his foe retreated several feet. The redhead’s gaze went to a torch on the right side of the tunnel and he darted toward it. Justin ran to stop him and leapt into a flying kick which knocked the redhead sprawling. The subsequent stomp on the solar plexus and palm strike knocked him out. 

Rising Justin turned back toward Solan and said, “Let’s get going. We don’t want to be here when he wakes up.”

Solan stared wide-eyed at Justin for a few seconds before hurrying up to him. “How did you do that?” he asked in a hushed voice. 

“Karate and my Ranger training,” Justin answered. “My Dad started teaching me the martial arts when I was five, and I learned a lot from Tommy.”

Justin glanced down at the redhead and sadly concluded, “No one he met would be able to join us. We’re better off heading down the unlit passage. Come on.” 

Justin once more took the lead, Solan trailing behind him. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Incredible! Watching Justin was almost like seeing Xena in action again. Different moves, yes, but the same speed and confidence. And this warrior wasn’t much older than he was! Justin’s father and his mentor, Tommy, had both taught the boy very well. 

Thank all the gods that Justin was friendly! The Fates had truly smiled on him when he had met the teenage Ranger. If he hadn’t run into Justin, what would have happened when he eventually encountered the trident-bearing boy?

He tried to shut that thought out, but he couldn’t. It kept wriggling its way back into his consciousness. What would have happened to him, if he had been alone? Perhaps he might have gotten away or knocked the youth out. It was possible; he could take care of himself. That was what he had assured Justin of . . . and what he had told Xena, when she had first warned him that he was in danger.

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

The black wolf/human hybrid began to salivate when it caught the scent of prey. Its speed increased as it followed the human scent back to its source. Closer, closer . . . there! The werewolf pounced on the startled two-legged creature, slashing with its claws, ripping and tearing with its jaws.

The animal died quickly and the werewolf settled down to feed. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

This flickering torchlight was not ideal illumination for reading his sacred book. Offhand he knew of only a few spells which could help him here and most of those required components he did not possess. He needed to sit down and make a through study of the tome, something he had been meaning to do since Enos’ death. It would be difficult to triumph in this place, but Morthos was grateful for even the opportunity to try. 

For the second time his desperate pleas had been heard and his life spared. He had been delivered from immolation at the hands of those blind fools and brought here to prove his worthiness to live. It was the most he could expect, given his abysmal failure. 

His old master had kept the townsfolk cowed with terror. They never would have dared to act against Enos and he had assumed the same would be true for him. Was he not Enos’ successor and heir? The mob assault which had come in response to Sarah’s kidnapping had been a complete surprise. He had not been prepared to face such numbers and that was his failure. 

He should have been ready! With Enos gone it was natural for the common rabble to feel more courageous. If he had anticipated their reaction he could have thwarted it or at least escaped in time. 

Here he would redeem himself. He would appease his Lord with further offerings and when he returned home the insects who had tried to burn him would themselves writhe in flame!

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Lanius awoke with a pounding migraine. Though the sudden motion made his aching head swim, he quickly snatched up his nearby trident, glancing around fearfully for enemies. There were none; he was alone in the corridor. 

It was a surprise to still be alive; the blue warrior must have really believed what he was saying. He actually thought it was possible to survive without killing! It wasn’t. Every Roman gladiator learned that during the first month. You had to kill to live. Defiance brought only suffering and death. Even great Spartacus’ rebellion hadn’t been able to change the way things were.

It was a lesson he had since taken to heart. The prospect of disobeying his new master, this unknown god, was unthinkable; it was a wonder that a fighter as skilled as the blue one had been such a fool. Perhaps Archon had already slain him for his impudence? The idea was a comforting one, but it was also unlikely. Good gladiators were seldom discarded so easily. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

As he wandered up and down the endless, dismal corridors Josh couldn’t help comparing this situation to his adventure through the time-stream. On the bright side there was a lot less at stake here. Instead of all of time, it was only his life which was in danger. The downside was that before he had a clear goal and friends to help him achieve it. Now he was alone, with no clue what to do.

When the giant boy had taken them captive and forced them to fight they’d managed to get by on play-acting. That wouldn’t cut it here. Archon didn’t just want to see them fight; he wanted them to fight to the death.

Josh had killed before. In the battle at the castle, when he was trying to rescue Azabeth, he’d cut down the men opposing him. But could he kill kids like him? Kids who’d also been kidnapped by Archon, who didn’t want to be here any more than he did? He didn’t think he could.

He couldn’t escape either. His first thought on being deposited in this maze had been to use his Time Warrior powers to return home. When he had tried, however, he had felt something blocking him. He had concentrated with every atom of his being to overcome the unseen barrier and he had still gone nowhere. Only then had Archon smugly informed him that he wouldn’t be allowed to get away that easily; only victory or death would free him from this tournament. 

So . . . powers exhausted, escape impossible, no friends and a captor who insisted that he kill everyone or be killed. And he’d thought things were bad LAST time! 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

Shin Ren utterly despised the magical torches. By lighting at his approach they betrayed his presence to his enemies. Ninjitsu was the art of invisibility, but how could he practice it if the Archon-god meddled in this way? Silence and stealth were of no use when your coming was heralded by light. 

Breathing deeply the thirteen year-old Japanese sought the serenity which was the necessary state of mind for an assassin, brushing aside his anger and physical hunger. This additional burden would not defeat him. When the nightingale floor had alerted the samurai of Lord Tsien to his intrusion he had still managed to slay three of them before being overpowered. 

None of his enemy here were samurai; they all seemed to be gaijin, foreign devils. Three of them were actually female! And he would probably not be required to fight more than one of them at a time. If he ended up having to face every one of them directly rather than through stealth, then so be it. He would still triumph, proving himself a true adept of his craft and atoning for his shameful failure to kill Lord Tsien.

More than his miraculously avoided death, it was his failure which haunted him, tortured him. Father had entrusted him with that task, treating him as a man. His first mission, and by not completing it he had dishonored his entire clan. Winning a tournament held by a god would erase his shame and restore his family’s pride. He would not-could not- fail again.   
ΩΩΩΩΩ  
Kenny stood up and irritably shook his limbs out. His legs had almost gone to sleep on him. No wonder, since he’d been sitting in this lighted corridor section for hours now. His knapsack lay on the floor beside him, unzipped just enough so he could draw his short sword from it if he had to.

Hopefully he wouldn’t have to. If his competitors truly were children, some of them might be stupid enough not to instantly slay anyone they met and credulous enough to buy his innocent act. If so he could wait, catch them off-guard, and decapitate them at his leisure. 

Archon, however, had said that those he selected were warriors. If that was the case they might be ready to kill on sight and then his only advantage would be his Immortality. None of his enemies here were Immortal; there had been no hint of the telltale tingle when he had been sitting with them. They wouldn’t know about his power to return from the dead. Yet how many times could he hope to revive before someone got smart and dismembered him? He had his sword; how many of the other kids had edged weapons with them? 

Damn it, damn it, damn it! Weren’t his chances in the Game slim enough without being forced to participate in this junior death match? He would have to outlast nineteen others just to get back to where he had been! And all because of some stupid MORTAL! An idiot attorney who hadn’t lived a twentieth of the time he had! If he ever did make it back he was going to slice Robert Venders into a dozen pieces.

In the meantime he would sit here and do one of the things he hated most: he would wait. If someone should find him he was ready as he could be. And if not then he would be safe here while his enemies reduced the odds against him. By the end of the day there should be a lot fewer people in his way. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Kwame thought he might go mad with fear. This morning he had risen alive with eagerness to shed the blood of his tribe’s enemies. He was the largest and strongest of the young men and this was his chance to know the glories of war. He had impaled one of his foes on his spear, tripped and kicked another, and then suddenly he had been in a strange room, listening to “Archon”. No shaman had ever mentioned such a being in any tale he had heard. Nonetheless this Archon must be a very powerful spirit indeed, to snatch so many from Death’s embrace.

Archon had put them to a test of worthiness, like the trials Kwame had passed through to become a man. Memory of his success in those rites did nothing to reassure him now; he had been brought to the spirit world and that knowledge alone threatened to unman him with terror. 

He had prowled all around this confusing mystical cave and had not yet found any of the ones who were with him in the spirit’s room. Once he did, however, his course was clear. 

Was there . . . yes! There was light up ahead! Kwame broke into a trot as he caught sight of the figure striding toward him. It was an ivory-skinned boy with very short yellow hair. The boy had no tribal markings and wore garments which were exceedingly strange. No matter. Snarling Kwame raised his spear and lunged at his enemy, thrusting straight for the heart.

Swift as a striking snake the boy seized the spear below the head and, with one hand, effortlessly snapped the weapon in two. Kwame stood agog at this impossible feat. His spear had been made of blessed hard wood! How could this boy destroy it so easily?

Smiling the blond boy kicked out at Kwame’s right leg, breaking the bone with sickening snap. Biting back a scream Kwame tumbled down to the stone floor. He was trying to push himself to a sitting position when his enemy broke his other leg. 

Now Kwame could not hold back his howl of pain. Laughing delightedly the boy dropped to his own knees, grabbed one of Kwame’s flailing arms, and broke it in two places.   
Tears ran down Kwame’s cheeks as he screamed again when the boy repeated the treatment on his other arm. Rising up the boy grinned down at him, before viciously kicking in three of his ribs.

Kwame’s unending scream degenerated into a breathless, wheezing cough. Everywhere his broken body was in utter agony. All that was left in his mind was raw, primeval fear, the kind which the lions had always stirred within him.

The lion was a symbol of strength, of manhood. To fear it was cowardly, yet Kwame always had. The sight of one made him shudder and he dreaded being torn apart by a lion. In a strange way his dread had been realized, for what was this boy but a lion in human form? In his fevered imagination his enemy’s blond hair became a mane as the boy leaned over and clamped a hand on either side of Kwame’s head. 

The pressure started at once and spiraled rapidly upward from unpleasant to unbearable. The African warrior’s eyes bulged in their sockets, his mouth open wide in a soundless bellow. Instinctively he tried to resist with his arms, but moving them only brought fresh suffering. Blood spurted from his ears and nose. At last a horrible cracking sound filled the air and everything went dark. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

What fun! It was so satisfying to use his strength in this way, so . . . fulfilling. It was well worth the boring hours he had spent walking these tunnels. 

Why hadn’t Archon let them fight one-on-one from the start? What was the point of putting them so far away from each other and making everything take so long? He could have won by now, if he had only been given the chance!

The set-up was unpleasantly reminiscent of some of the more complex tests Will had been put through in the past. Of course then he had always been forbidden to kill; here he was being encouraged to kill! That alone was reason enough to cooperate. He would find and finish off as many of his competitors as he could before this day was done. And for the ones who escaped him, there was always tomorrow. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Harmful as the presence of the torches might be to him, they nonetheless assisted in tracking the movement of others. At the four way junction up ahead the torches were already lit both on the left and on the right. There was no other sign of anyone in either direction, and after a brief pause Shin-Ren turned right. 

He followed the trail of already ignited torches for a considerable distance before his patience was at last rewarded. His target was moving away from him and quietly as he could he closed the distance between them. From behind it seemed this enemy was dressed in some type of pelt, with boots of animal skin and a metal helmet which imprudently protected his skull only from the forehead up, his long blond hair spilling out from under it. 

The gajin abruptly turned left to go down a new tunnel and Shin-Ren froze. The boy stopped in his tracks and turned his head to stare directly at Shin-Ren. Raising a large axe overhead he charged down the corridor, bellowing the whole way. 

Being seen by this barbarian was bad enough, but it was the unexpected and unwelcome noise which truly disturbed the young ninja. There was no reason for the foolish gaijin to be so loud! His screaming would alert everyone in the area! 

Shin-Ren sent a shuriken spinning into his target’s right thigh and was surprised by how little that slowed the screaming lunatic. The throat, torso and upper body were protected by the pelt, so he aimed his next throwing star at the head. It would have taken the left eye as Shin Ren had intended had not the boy twisted his head to the side. Instead it sliced the boy’s left ear almost in half, yet the only effect seemed to be to increase the volume of that cursed screaming! 

Shin-Ren drew his ninja-do as the gajin rushed up to him, but he knew better than to try to directly parry the powerful blows of that axe. He dodged and retreated, avoiding the weapon and slashing at the boy’s left arm as a too-wide swing exposed it. 

The howling gaijin released the axe with his left hand and it was too heavy to wield solely with his right. Shin-Ren took advantage of the opening to drive his ninja-do into his enemy’s throat, at last silencing the insane barbarian! As the boy died his helmet tumbled off his head, hitting the stone floor with a loud ringing sound. 

Scowling down at the corpse of his defeated enemy Shin-Ren cursed him before moving off swiftly down the corridor, eager to get as far away from the origin of the warning scream as he could. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

The lit torches showed someone had come this way already. Colin took a deep sniff of the air, memorizing the scent of the human who had passed by. 

His senses were the equal of any other vampire, though his physical ability was far less. He had the form of a ten year-old, and the strength to match. Among the Order of Aurelius that hadn’t mattered; he was the Anointed, spoken of in prophecy, and the others had obeyed him without question. 

Spike had not. At first he had thought the white-haired vampire’s arrival might work to his advantage. With the failure of the resurrection rite and the loss of Absalom he hadn’t quite known what to do next. Sending this powerful, disrespectful newcomer after the hated Slayer had seemed like a perfect plan. Let them destroy each other! 

Except they hadn’t. Spike had failed, yet he had also survived. And when he returned . . . 

Colin hissed at the memory. He would be dust now, if not for Archon. Who WAS this being?!?! To snatch him and the others away right before their deaths, out of the time stream, would require an unbelievable amount of power! Far, far beyond even what the Master had possessed when he had opened the Hellmouth. 

Such unimaginable power could not be defied. All he could do was try to win this contest, if he could. He was a vampire, yes, but what were the other kids? What had made them suitable to be chosen? There was no way of knowing until he faced them, one by one.

Colin followed the scent unerringly, his pace quickening to a jog as he realized the other person had come this way some time ago. He trailed his unseen enemy for over half an hour before catching up with the other boy. 

The child was sitting down against a wall about twenty yards ahead. He wore a black robe and had dark, wavy hair. The head swiveled in his direction and Colin beheld a pock-marked face and yellow eyes. The figure scrambled to his feet and in his right hand Colin saw . . . a book? Why would he have a book here?

As he darted forward Colin’s face shifted, morphing into the terrifying visage of a vampire about to feed. He expected his prey to scream in fright, or at least flinch in surprise. Instead there was a quick intake of breath and the boy began frantically flipping through his book. 

All at once Colin thought of the ancient text from which he had taken the resurrection rite, and with that memory everything fell into place. The book was a spell book, the boy a sorcerer! 

Colin dashed frantically at his enemy, who now seemed impossibly far away. The rustling of pages ceased; the boy had found what he wanted.

Snarling Colin threw himself the last few feet in a flying tackle, knocking the boy down and sending the book flying to one side. Pulling himself up along the child’s midsection Colin bared his fangs in triumph and went in for the kill. He sunk his teeth into the warlock’s neck at the exact second the winded boy managed to spit out an invocation. 

Colin froze. He couldn’t even suck the delicious blood from the wound he had made. “Release me!” the boy gasped and Colin felt compelled to obey. Against his will he withdrew his fangs from the boy’s neck and stood up.

His hand held over the twin puncture wounds the boy rose as well. His sickly yellow orbs were alight with fury, but his mouth was curved into a smug smile of satisfaction. 

“I am Morthos, and you are mine, soulless one,” he whispered tauntingly. “You will be my sword and my shield in this battle, for the greater glory of our Lord.”

Colin ached with the desire to finish tearing the warlock’s jugular out, but he couldn’t. The spell restrained him completely.

“Walk before me,” Morthos commanded, and Colin did. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Okay, Archon had said they were fighting each other, hadn’t he? And while he’d seen a lot of other kids gathered in that room, Josh definitely hadn’t seen this.

It was vaguely man-shaped, but covered in fur, with the face and claws of a wolf. It was coming toward him very fast, on all fours, and when it got to him it almost certainly was NOT going to lick his hand and roll over to be petted. 

Josh turned and ran, but he knew he couldn’t possibly outdistance this thing, especially considering how tired he was. He’d been walking for hours now on an empty stomach and after just a few seconds of sprinting he was already out of breath. Behind him he could hear the wolf-thing closing the gap. 

The fourteen year-old swerved toward the left wall and grabbed hold of the nearest torch. He took it from its bracket with both hands and held it in front of him as he turned. 

The wolf creature slowed suddenly, its paws slipping on the stone beneath it. Growling deeply it padded slowly around Josh in a half-circle, just out of reach.

“Go on! Get!” he shouted, swinging the torch in a threatening arc. The beast snarled and snapped in reply. Then it lunged for his right leg. 

Everything happened too fast for Josh to think about what to do. He reacted purely on instinct, stumbling back against the wall and bringing the flaming end of the torch down on top of the creature’s head. 

It pulled back at once, howling its pain. Josh thrust the torch into its face and the sickening smell of burning hair and meat filled the air. The wolf creature whipped about and raced off down the corridor. 

Josh watched it go with enormous relief. The creature had almost gotten him, and he doubted it was gone for good. The last thing he wanted was to have to face it again, but without his Time Warrior powers what could he do to stop it?

The teenager stood thinking for a moment before a grin spread across his face. First he experimentally set his torch down on the floor. It burned on without pause. Then Josh began taking other torches from their brackets and laying them all on the same floor section. He made a line of a half dozen torches on the floor and a short distance behind them laid another six.

Stepping back he admired his handiwork. The wolf-thing wouldn’t want to come through the flame and it couldn’t jump over the first line of torches without landing on the second. 

“Now that’s what I call a firewall,” Josh whispered. He turned and moved slowly through the pitch darkness he had created, but his heart was lighter than at any time since he had first arrived here. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Wasn’t there anybody else in this stupid maze?!? Jo McCormack wondered. Hour after hour spent exploring and she had yet to see another soul!

Every minute she was here was that much longer for her teammates to worry. What had her brother and Roland thought when she disappeared, and never reappeared? Poor Drew had to be going out of his mind by now! He had always tried so hard to take care of her. And there was no way to talk to him, to let him know that she was all right. Well, maybe not “all right”, but at least that she was still alive.

Archon may have saved her, but that didn’t give him the right to enter her into some kind of real life “Mortal Kombat” game! The whole idea was disgusting! If she could only get her hands on him, she’d show him exactly what she thought of his contest. Then she’d make him send her and the other kids home.

Late in the afternoon (or at least she thought it had to be late in the afternoon) Jo came upon a passage leading to a lighted section. Someone had already been through the area up ahead. The realization brought her to an abrupt halt.

She hadn’t actually considered what she would do when she did meet up with another kid. Acting as Archon wanted wasn’t possible; she wasn’t about to commit murder. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t fight to defend herself. Anyone dumb enough to attack her was going to get slammed into the floor, walls, and ceiling and that was just for starters! 

It’d have been a lot better all around if she could have assumed her Beetleborg form. The sight of Platinum Purple would have been warning enough to everyone not to mess with her. When she had called for her Beetlebonder, though, it hadn’t appeared, and immediately afterward Archon had declared that her Beetleborg form would give her an unfair advantage over the other contestants. 

What was unfair was him limiting her that way! It had been a tremendous relief to discover that she still had her civilian power; when she had cracked her knuckles she’d experienced the same warm, comforting surge of super-strength as always.

So she was probably still stronger than anyone else here, but she didn’t appear intimidating, and that fact could easily lead to a fight. Well, bring it on then! She was more than ready for battle . . . but should she be seeking it out? Was that what she was doing, looking for trouble? 

Still, what else could she do? Just sitting around on her butt wasn’t going to help anything. Jo headed into the illuminated passage. 

Five turns later she heard something up ahead, audible even over the incessant rumblings of her stomach. Voices! She quickened her pace, trotting along the tunnel’s curve to the right. Up ahead two figures were walking away from her. 

Two people, together. Why? Did they know each other from before this? Would they team up against her if she let them know she was here? 

“Hey!” Jo called out, and they both whirled around. The one nearest her was wearing funny-looking clothes and skin boots instead of sneakers. He had on a red headband and his blond hair was really long, especially for a boy; it went down well past his shoulders. 

The second one pushed his way in front of the first, holding a sword in his right hand. He was-he was wearing the uniform of one of Angel Grove’s old Turbo Rangers, the blue one! There was only one thing wrong. 

“Aren’t you a little short to be a Power Ranger?” Jo asked skeptically. On TV the Power Rangers had always looked so tall, but this one was the same height she was. 

“I can’t access my full powers,” the boy replied, a touch of irritation in his tone. “How do you know about the Rangers?”

“I live in Charterville and I see you guys on the news all the time.” 

“Charterville? The Beetleborgs’ home town?” 

“Yeah, I see them a lot too,” Jo allowed. It was the truth, just not the whole truth. 

The response was unexpectedly quick and to the point: “Are you a Beetleborg?”

“What if I am?” Jo asked defiantly.

“I hope you are. I heard the Beetleborgs were heroes, protecting Charterville the same way the Rangers protected Angel Grove. A hero wouldn’t do what Archon wants.” 

“Aren’t you doing what he wants?” Jo challenged, nodding toward the sword he held. 

“No! This is only for self-defense. Otherwise I’d have attacked you already.” 

“And you’d be sorry you had!” 

A wordless sound of frustration emanated from the junior Ranger. “I’m not your enemy! I’m trying to gather the kids who won’t fight together so we can protect each other, and stop the ones who are willing to kill! Don’t you want that too? ”

Jo paused and took a deep breath. What the Ranger proposed did sound like a good idea, like something Drew would have come up with if he’d been here. There was no real reason to turn the boy down unless he couldn’t be trusted, and if you couldn’t trust a Power Ranger then who could you trust? 

“Yes, I do. I’m Jo McCormick.” 

“Justin Stewart,” he said, shaking hands with her. Half-turning he indicated his companion, who had said nothing up until now. “And this is Solan.” 

“Solan?” she asked as she shook his extended hand, bemused by both his odd name and the awkwardness with which he performed as simple a task as shaking hands. 

“Yes,” the blond boy confirmed, and fell silent again. 

“Solan isn’t from our time,” Justin explained. “He isn’t from our universe. He comes from the ancient Greece of a parallel world.”

“That’s why you’re dressed like that,” Jo blurted out. Oops. That didn’t sound quite the way she’d meant it to.

“This is the only kind of clothes I have,” Solan answered, a quiet dignity in his voice and bearing. 

“So you are a Beetleborg?” Justin jumped in, changing the subject. 

“I’m the Platinum Purple Beetleborg.”

“Are your powers being blocked too?” 

“I can’t make my Beetlebonder appear, if that’s what you mean, but I do still have my civilian power.”

“What’s that?”

“Super-strength,” Jo said replied with a self-satisfied smirk. 

“Really? How strong are you?”

“Strong enough to snap chains, push a truck around, and knock over a lamppost,” she boasted proudly. “How strong are you?”

“Not nearly that strong,” the Ranger admitted, “but I am a second degree black belt and the Power is still enhancing me a little.”

“What can you do, Solan?” Jo asked, trying to bring him into the conversation. The boy’s face flushed at the question. 

“I’m quick and agile for my age, and I’ve had some practice with a staff.” 

Jo waited for him to go on. As the seconds ticked by she realized he wasn’t going to. That was it? That was all he could do? 

“Come on,” Justin urged. “We should get moving. Jo, did you find any places where the torches were already lit before you got into our area?”

“No, I didn’t.” 

“Then I think we should keep going in this direction. Does everyone agree?” 

Solan nodded his assent and Jo gave a “Yeah.” The three moved on, Justin and Jo in the lead and Solan following right behind. 

Her presence seemed to have a chilling effect on conversation. For some time they went on in an uncomfortable silence. It was annoying! These two had been talking up a storm before, when she first came upon them. Now all she was getting was this stupid silent treatment. She was on the verge of saying something sharp when she thought of the last Turbo Ranger battle she’d seen on the news before that new group had shown up. She asked Justin about the fight and after a little prodding he was soon talking a mile a minute. The two fell into easy conversation about giant monsters, super-advanced vehicles, arch-enemies and the usual pitfalls of being a kid superhero. Solan trudged along behind them, saying nothing. He was so quiet Jo almost forgot he was there.

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

He came upon his enemies without warning. After fighting the persistent fear that his last foe’s shouting had warned everyone near him to flee, he turned a corner to find opponents coming the opposite way. 

They were too close for him to use his shurikens; he would have to face them with his blade. He unsheathed his ninja-to as the one in the lead charged him. The gaijin was unarmed, but his face . . . his face was that of a monster! 

For an instant Shin-Ran faltered, fear freezing his blood. The creature’s mouth opened and he could see the set of fangs it had on its upper and lower jaw. Breaking his paralysis and cursing his hesitation he brought his sword up to protect himself. To his astonishment the monster ran right onto his blade! It impaled itself, the tip emerging from its back. 

The creature sagged down in death and the weight made Shin-Ren lose his grip on the blade. He grabbed the pommel again and screamed as the monster returned to life and seized his arm! Shaking free he jumped back in horror and confusion. W-what WAS this creature?!? How could it could be run through and not die?

With a deep moan the monster pulled his sword from its body. As it did so Shin-Ren kicked it in the face, sending it sprawling on its back. He brought his right foot down on its wrist and leaned over to wrench his weapon back. He spared a quick glance for his second opponent, who had moved no closer. The yellow-eyed gaijin was reading aloud from a book of some sort, and though Archon had said they would be able to understand each other, none of the words made sense. 

He regained his ninja-to and took a step forward as the words ceased. Immediately a debilitating sense of weakness swept over him. He stood there trembling, barely maintaining his balance. What had this ugly gaijin done to him?!? 

The second figure approached with a smile, a wavy-bladed dagger clutched in his right hand. The monster sought to regain its feet, but fell back with a groan; apparently the vast gash in its chest was at least hurting it.

Shin-Ren himself was in no shape to press his attack. The horrible feverish feeling actually seemed to be getting worse instead of better! He needed to escape and give himself time to recover. If he tried to run now, though, they’d catch him. 

Leaning his blade against the left wall he fumbled with the lid in the pommel. Forcing it open he felt rather than saw the oval item inside drop into his left hand. The yellow-eyed boy was almost close enough to touch now. In another instant he would seek to plant his knife in Shin-Ren’s chest. With more effort than it should have taken the young ninja threw the item in his hand underarm at his attacker. 

The egg still came in low, striking the boy on the chin and breaking. But instead of yolk a cloud of pepper powder, metal shavings and nettle extract erupted from the shattered shell. Screaming the boy staggered backward, his hands going to his eyes and his dagger clattering to the floor. 

It was tempting to stay and try to finish his foe, but there was too great a chance of failure in such a course. He felt terribly sick and weak, he didn’t know how to kill the demon, and the other boy might still have the power to slay him.

Shin-Ren sheathed his ninja-do, turned and moved off down the corridor as quickly as he could, stumbling and almost falling in the process. A swift glance backward showed that neither of his enemies was following him at the moment. The demon had risen to its knees, while the other boy was still preoccupied with his eyes. 

After turning the corner Shin-Ren took care to scatter a handful of his caltrops behind him before staggering on. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Stymied by the fire the werewolf prowled the passages in search of a different way to reach the prey which had harmed it. Not out of physical need; its hunger had been more than satiated by feeding on its two previous kills. It simply longed to slay the creature which had caused it pain. The scavengers could have the carcass. 

Eventually it reached a point where the scent of its prey lingered, faint but detectable. It began following the trail, its nose twitching eagerly. Then it stopped, smelling yet another prey very close by, one which was already wounded. 

The creature deviated from its quest, turning and racing down a side tunnel. Ahead the animal spun awkwardly to face it, moving slowly on a wounded leg. The prey froze in place, as they sometimes did, and it leapt, heedless of the long, sharp metal object in the prey’s right hand. 

Its weight bore the creature to the stone floor and even as the metal bit into its side it was biting savagely at the throat of its newest kill.

Once it had finished it returned to hunting for the scent of the creature it truly wanted. It was getting close when-Jamie abruptly found herself once more human and fully clothed, standing in a place she had never seen before.


	3. The First Night

Completely disoriented now, even more so than usual after changing back, Jamie looked around wildly, taking in her new surroundings in a state close to hysteria.

This room was similar to the first one she’d found herself in, lit by a kind of glowing white plastic which made up the floors, walls and ceiling. It was square-shaped and considerably larger, however, and instead of one circular table there were three, laid out in a triangular fashion. There was also a total of thirteen plush chairs arrayed around the tables, which were much more cafeteria style than the first table had been. 

A metal door was set in one wall, while the opposite wall boasted a black television-type screen. Underneath the screen at about waist-level was a two or three foot deep indentation. Both features ran the entire length of the wall.

Scattered around the room were the kids she’d seen at the start of this nightmare. Some of them, anyway. 

Nearest her were the little dark-haired boy and the kid with the cratered face and weird black robes. His creepy yellow eyes were red and watering, and he was glaring across the room at the Asian kid in the ninja costume, who seemed to be glaring back. She also had the tall, very well-built boy with the blond crew cut and green eyes standing next to her table, wearing blue jeans and a sweatshirt.

The ninja kid had that freaky alien with him, the one in padded leather with the brown skin and wrinkled forehead. On his other side was another teenager wearing blue jeans and a plaid shirt. He had blue eyes and wavy blond hair. To his left was a younger, smaller blond-haired and blue eyed boy in jeans and a striped summer shirt, with a knapsack. 

At the five person table near the wall with the black screen were both of the two remaining girls. One wore jean shorts with a yellow top and a backward baseball cap, while the other was auburn-haired and had on some kind of strange, futuristic-looking one piece garment. There was the brown-haired boy with the bowl haircut and also the guy with the really long blond hair and the stone-age outfit. Finally there was the red-haired boy in the sandals and tunic. With a snarl that teen lunged at the long-haired kid, but before he touched his target there was a flash of light and the redhead was somehow hurled away from his victim and onto the floor, skidding to a stop just before he hit the wall.

“THERE WILL BE NO VIOLENCE OUTSIDE THE BATTLEFIELD!” Archon’s electronic voice thundered. “THAT IS WHY YOU HAVE BEEN RELIEVED OF YOUR WEAPONS. THIS IS YOUR TIME TO REST AND REGAIN YOUR STRENGTH. ANYONE WHO TRIES TO HARM ANOTHER BEFORE YOU ARE RETURNED TO THE BATTLEFIELD TOMORROW WILL BE STOPPED.” 

Groaning the redhead slowly picked himself up off the floor again. Meanwhile the girl in yellow moved to stand defiantly between him and his victim, while the brown-haired boy seemed to be making sure the shaken blonde was okay.

“CONGRATULATIONS ON SURVIVING YOUR FIRST DAY!” Archon continued, in a more moderate tone. “I KNOW YOU ARE HUNGRY, ESPECIALLY AFTER MISSING BREAKFAST AND LUNCH. GO TO THE WALL OPPOSITE THE DOOR AND SAY THE NAME OF WHATEVER FOOD YOU WOULD LIKE. I WILL EXPLAIN YOUR LIVING ARRANGEMENTS AFTER YOU HAVE EATEN.” 

The alien acted first, striding over to the wall and calling for, “A roasted targ and a bottle of blood wine!” 

With a shimmer a platter piled high with meat appeared in the gap, along with a large corked bottle. The crew-cut kid was next, ordering a coke, burger and fries. Slowly, warily, everyone else moved to the opening to get their food. 

Everyone, that is, but her. She wasn’t hungry at all, which could mean only one thing. Jamie closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. Then she opened them again, pulled out a chair, and sunk listlessly down into it. 

She didn’t remember what had happened, of course. She never remembered what she had done while Changed. She didn’t even know who or what had managed to kill her back home! The last thing she remembered was Changing in the woods. Whatever had happened after that, she had ended up here, and had apparently accounted for at least one of the absent kids. 

The wave of guilt which swept through her at that thought also ignited a hot, defensive anger. It wasn’t as if she had asked to be like this! She was the victim here, not the villain. What could she have done after she realized what was happening, turn herself in? Yeah, and get locked up in the loony-bin if she was lucky. If she was unlucky, if they believed her, then she’d end up in a government lab. What kind of life was that?

Everyone around her had starting eating ravenously except for the little dark-haired boy. She noticed in a distant sort of way that he was just drinking from a mug. 

It was the quietest dinner she’d ever been at, the only noise being the sounds of chewing and silverware scraping together. There was no conversation at her table, or at any of the others. What could you say to people you had to kill, and who were trying to kill you?

One by one everyone finished eating. When the last person leaned back from his plate-the crew-cut kid at her table, who’d gone back for seconds-Archon spoke. 

“YOU HAVE EACH BEEN ASSIGNED LIVING QUARTERS.” A map flashed up on the screen. It showed the cafeteria at the top of a T-junction. On the left passage were seven rooms, three on each side and one at the very end. Each was labeled with a name, which Archon also proceeded to read off: Lanius, Josh, Madeline, Solan, Will, Shin-Ren, and Kenny. The opposite branch had rooms labeled Morthos, Jamie, Justin, Colin, Alexander and Jo. 

“IN EACH ROOM IS A BED, EXTRA CLOTHES, AN AREA TO WASH YOURSELF, THE MEANS TO DISPOSE OF YOUR WASTE, AND A SCREEN LIKE THIS ONE WHICH WILL DISPLAY ANYTHING YOU DESIRE. THIS SCREEN WILL ALSO INSTRUCT THOSE OF YOU UNFAMILIAR WITH SHOWERS, FAUCETS AND WASTE DISPOSAL IN THE PROPER WAY TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THESE AMENITIES.”

The lower part of the T lit up, with each of the five rooms flashing as Archon mentioned it. “IN THE CENTRAL PASSAGE IS A ROOM WITH A SWIMMING POOL, A WEIGHT ROOM, A GAME ROOM, A BICYCLE TRACK, AND A ROOM WHICH WILL SIMULATE COMBAT. AGAIN, ANY INSTRUCTIONS NEEDED TO USE THESE FACILITIES WILL BE PROVIDED THROUGH THE SCREEN IN YOUR ROOM. YOU ARE FREE TO SPEND YOUR TIME HOWEVER YOU WISH, SO LONG AS YOU DO NOT ATTEMPT TO INJURE ONE ANOTHER. FAREWELL!”

“Wait a minute!” the teen in the plaid shirt protested. “Why are you doing this to us? Who are you?” 

There was no answer. The brown-skinned alien, who had for some reason pulled his chair away from the table and faced the wall while he was eating, snorted. Rising he started toward the door, as did a few others. 

Before they could reach it the brown-haired boy stood and spoke in a voice which carried across the room. 

“Listen to me! My name is Justin Stewart. I’m a prisoner here, just like the rest of you, but I am NOT playing Archon’s game. I won’t kill for his pleasure! None of us should! We may be his captives, but that doesn’t mean we have to be his slaves!”

“Today I met Solan,” he indicate the long-haired boy, “and Jo,” and he pointed to the girl in the yellow shirt. “The three of us didn’t try to fight each other. We talked. We agreed that we wouldn’t commit murder for Archon. What do the rest of you say? Who else here is with us?”

A number of those present, Jamie included, looked around nervously, expecting Archon to punish Justin. The seconds dragged by with nothing happening. Then the redhead boy rose, walked over to Justin, and spat in his face.

Justin recoiled in disgust, instinctively wiping the spittle away. A couple of the kids laughed while the redhead turned away with a sneer and headed for the door. The Asian kid followed him and the two dark-haired boys at her table also stood up to leave. The crew-cut blond did the same, still chuckling. “Try to at least give me a fight when I catch up to you,” he urged Justin before walking out. 

The other two blonds hadn’t moved and the alien stood staring at Justin with an indecipherable look on his hideous face. The petite brunette in the one-piece costume, who had to be Madeline, piped up. 

“I don’t want to let HIM tell me what to do, but what’s next? Do you have any plan for getting us out of here? Or killing Archon?”

Justin took a deep breath. “No,” he answered directly. “Not yet. If we work together, though, and pool our abilities we might be able to find a way to escape.”

“And while we search for this way you want us not to kill each other?” That was the alien, his voice gruff and deep. 

“I want us not to kill anyone! We can stop the other kids without murdering them, and maybe we can convince them to join us.” Justin’s voice trailed off as the alien did an abrupt about face and marched from the room. 

Madeline was frowning. “Let me know if you come up with something solid,” she said. Then she literally flew to the door! Everyone seemed surprised at that, though the boy Solan flinched more visibly and violently than anyone else. 

Jamie realized it was time for her to go too. She couldn’t go along with this. Turning into her wolf form was the only way for her to protect herself. That was why she hadn’t hesitated in the tunnel when Archon had given her the power to voluntarily assume it. And as a wolf she had no choice about who she attacked. 

She made her way out the automatic door and into the white-paneled passage, turning right to go to her assigned room and once again thanking God that she didn’t have to remember anything she did while she was Changed. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

Justin seemed disappointed with the results of his little speech. Well, what the hell had the idiot expected?!?! His plan was short-sighted and dangerously naïve. And even if everyone had agreed to it, did he think Archon would just meekly accept their defiance? The kid was lucky he hadn’t been struck down on the spot!

The fact that Justin hadn’t been punished, however, seemed to indicate that Archon was going to let this farce play out. In that case the best thing for him to do would be to go along with it, at least for now. 

The only other kid who hadn’t left was the blond teen in the plaid shirt. He got up and went over toward Justin, and Kenny quickly followed, leaving his backpack under the table. 

“I’m Josh Kirby,” the kid said, holding his hand out. Justin quickly shook Josh’s hand. 

“I’m Kenny Venders,” Kenny offered next, also shaking Justin’s hand.

“Thanks for staying,” Justin said as greetings were exchanged with Solan and Jo. All five present sat down around the table. 

“First, do we all agree that we don’t want to kill anyone?” Justin asked. There were nods and affirmations from the other four present, making Justin smile widely. 

“Great!” he exclaimed enthusiastically. “That’s our big advantage over the others. They’re all out for themselves, but we’re not. We can protect each other.”

“Protect each other how?” Kenny asked. Here was one his two reasons for putting up with this nonsense. 

“Tomorrow Archon will probably split everyone up again. We have to do our best to find each other so we can fight off our attackers as a team. Once we beat them we might be able to convince some of them to join us.”

“Like the boy we met?” Solan asked skeptically. “He just tried to choke me, and he spat on you!” 

Justin grimaced. “They can’t all be like him.” 

“You talked about pooling our abilities,” Josh noted. “What can you guys do?”

Kenny unconsciously leaned forward. This was his other reason for being here: information. 

“Have either of you ever heard of the Power Rangers?” Justin asked him and Josh. When they shook their heads he took a deep breath. 

“Archon hasn’t just taken from us from Earth. He’s taken us from different dimensions! Solan comes from an ancient Greece where there really are centaurs; I’m from a world where a group called the Power Rangers uses alien technology to defend Earth from extra-terrestrial threats. Jo is from the same world and she’s one of three heroes known as the Beetleborgs.”

“And you’re one of these Power Rangers?” Josh asked intuitively. 

Justin nodded and Kenny couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “And what “alien technology” do you have?” he asked, not bothering to hide his scorn.

In response the brown-haired teen twisted his right wrist and a device simply appeared there! It was affixed to his arm by a strap and appeared extremely high-tech. He and Josh both craned their necks to get a better look at it. 

“This is my morpher,” Justin explained. “It lets me access the energy of the Morphin Grid and use it to transform myself. Usually when I morph I grow to about six foot two, my strength increases by a factor of ten and my armor makes me almost invincible. I’ve taken laser blasts to the chest while morphed without getting hurt.” 

Kenny couldn’t take his eyes off the morpher. The thought of all that power, locked in that little machine . . . if he could get hold of it and use it, then no Immortal would be able to stand against him! Not MacLeod, not Amanda, not even the legendary Methos! Here was the answer to the curse of his child’s body! 

So caught up was he in the glorious possibilities that he missed what Josh said next. He did, however, catch Justin’s reply. 

“No, Archon altered it. When I morph I still get my uniform, my helmet and my Turbo Blade, but I don’t grow, I don’t feel much stronger than normal, and my uniform is normal clothing instead of the armor it usually is.” 

And just like that his newborn hope died. Why hadn’t the miserable snot-nosed brat mentioned the new limitations on his morpher in the first place?!? Why had he bothered relating what the machine usually did if it didn’t do it now? Damn him! 

“And even though I’ve still got my civilian power, I can’t become a Beetleborg,” Jo put in. “Archon handicapped both of us,” Jo concluded bitterly.

“The guy who attacked Solan and I only had a trident and a net,” Justin pointed out. “If I’d been able to fully morph he wouldn’t have stood a chance.” 

“I’ve still got my Time Warrior powers, but maybe that’s because they only work once every twelve hours. Although they didn’t work at all when I tried to use them to get out of here,” Josh confided ruefully. 

“Time Warrior? What can a Time Warrior do?” Justin asked excitedly.

“I’ve aged metal to the point where it disintegrates. I powered a communicator by myself and once I reduced this warlord to a baby by touching him. I’ve traveled through time and space and even taken other people along with me.”

Justin was staring wide-eyed at Josh, and with ample reason. Assuming this kid was telling the truth, his powers were incredible! It was a good thing he could only use them once a day in the Battlefield. Given his limitation it made sense for him to seek the protection of a group, one which could protect him after he used up his powers.

It made a little too much sense, actually. Was it possible Josh was playing the same game he was? Only pretending to go along with Justin? It would be worth keeping an eye on this one, just in case.

Justin was babbling on about Josh’s abilities, asking about their source. Josh explained that he was born with them, though he hadn’t been able to access them until he had his adventure through time. Justin was clearly bursting to ask about that, so Kenny decided he had better step in before they got bogged off on a useless tangent.

“What exactly can the two of you do?” he asked Jo and Solan. 

Jo cracked her knuckles and then with her right hand picked the entire table up. “I have super-strength,” she announced smugly. 

And SHE was complaining about a power reduction?!? How was he supposed to compete against this? It was the damned Game all over again! Once more he was the smallest and weakest, with every possible enemy above him. Sourly he shifted his gaze to the last person present. 

“I’m fast for my age and I’ve had some training with a staff,” Solan offered in a noticeably defensive tone.

That was it? That was nothing! Was the kid lying to hide what he could really do? Kenny didn’t get that impression. The boy looked embarrassed, or maybe ashamed; he looked like he was telling the truth. Certainly none of the others doubted his story for a second. Justin had an expression of nauseating sympathy on his face, while Jo was carefully avoiding looking at Solan. 

“Maybe you can do more than you think,” Josh offered. “I didn’t know I was a Time Warrior until a few months ago.”

Probably in an attempt to change the subject Justin turned to him and asked, “What are your abilities, Kenny?” 

What to tell them, what to tell them . . . well, if they believed Solan’s account, maybe they’d swallow this one too. 

“I’m the best one on my middle school boxing team,” he announced. Justin nodded, the worry flashing across his face so quickly that Kenny almost missed it. 

“You said you met one of the other kids today?” Kenny inquired. 

“Yes, the red-headed one who attacked Solan. I tried to talk to him, but he wouldn’t listen. I ended up having to burn his net and knock him out.”

“Did either of you see anyone else in those tunnels?” 

“I didn’t see someone, I saw something,” Josh reported. “It looked like a cross between a wolf and a person and it did its best to rip my throat out. If I hadn’t been able to fend it off with a torch I would’ve been toast!”

“Archon didn’t say we’d be fighting anyone except each other!” Jo protested.

“I don’t think we are,” Justin said slowly. “He wants us to kill each other; why would he send any kind of animal after us? Whatever you saw was probably . . . one of the other kids.”

“So like a werewolf?” Josh queried. 

Solan’s gaze traveled across the grim faces of everyone at the table. “What’s a werewolf?” he asked.

“It’s a person who turns into a wolf, or a wolf-human creature,” Justin explained. “They’re supposed to change forms during the full moon, act very savage, and they’re vulnerable to silver. They’re also not supposed to exist.”

“Like you thought gods and centaurs didn’t exist?”

There was no sarcasm or censure in the question, yet Justin winced slightly. “Yeah, Solan, just like that. That’s why we have to be ready for anything tomorrow, because there’s no telling what the other kids can do.” 

“What about after tomorrow?”

“If we can get the others over to our side Archon won’t be able to continue with this contest. Maybe then he’ll let us go. Also, we need to see if we can find a way into his control room. I worked with a lot of the Rangers’ technology and I might be able to figure out how to operate Archon’s tech.” 

The group mood lightened at this announcement, which struck Kenny as absurdly optimistic. He remained seated for another half hour, hoping to find out more of interest, but the discussion veered into personal lives and family. Standing up and retrieving his empty backpack he explained that he was tired and needed to go lie down. Justin asked if he wanted one of them to go with him, probably more out of concern for his feelings rather than any actual fear for his safety. Given the example Archon had made of the red-head it was unlikely anybody would take the risk of getting physical. No, he was safe until tomorrow, and then he could take advantage of the protection offered by these idiots. Overall it was as good an outcome for the day as he could have hoped for. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

You couldn’t fault the guy for wanting to go lie down. Josh’s head was spinning too, and he’d had way more experience with weird stuff than poor Kenny. 

Although they lived in what to him would be more than a decade into the future, it sounded like Justin and Jo’s world was pretty much like his own in most ways, which made the few contrasts all the more jarring. Ordinary towns living under constant attack, protected by teenagers empowered through magic or super-technology . . . it was just too wild! Then again, if that was wild, what did you call Solan’s world? Too bad he hadn’t read more Greek mythology while he had the chance.

A part of him chafed at the way the conversation had drifted away from their plan of action for tomorrow. At the same time it felt great to finally be able to talk with other people about his journey through time, to share his memories of Azabeth and Prism. Jo kind of reminded him of Azabeth. She had the same tough attitude and courageous exterior. How deeply did the resemblance run? Would he have a chance to find out? 

Justin was pretty cool too; the two of them actually had a fair amount in common. They were both only children, they’d both lost their mothers, and they were both the smartest kids at their schools. He hoped like hell he’d be able to find Justin and Jo tomorrow; together the three of them would make a great team!

Solan and Kenny, not so much. They were definitely screwed when it came to the power spectrum of the kids here. That his Time Warrior powers worked only once every twelve hours sucked, but how bad would it be to have only your boxing skills to rely on, or worse, to have nothing? 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

He really was a lot like Drew. 

She could see that now. They shared the same sense of responsibility, the same protective instincts. The way he had taken charge, trying to rally everyone and get them all to work together, was exactly what her brother would have done. Knowing that helped her miss Drew just a little bit less. 

She wished now that she hadn’t been so harsh with Justin when they first met. She honestly hadn’t meant to be, but this whole situation was pushing her right over the edge.

For now, though, she could forget about where they were. She could sit here and trade tales with her teammates, listening to what they’d done and filling them in on what she had accomplished. She could even laugh at some of Justin and Josh’s stories!

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

He had spoken the least of anyone here, except for Kenny. When they’d all encouraged him he had told them about his village and the Centaurs he grew up with. He had detailed his one real adventure with Xena. After that he had no more to say. 

Nothing in his life could compare to theirs. They came from a time of miracles, filled with wonders that he could scarcely have imagined. Cars, television, morphers . . . Mt. Olympus itself could not have been more awe-inspiring than the world they described. It was an Elysian Fields for the living! 

And Justin, Jo and Josh were among its heroes. Like Xena, they used their might to defend the weak and fight the oppressors. They were only a year or two older than he was, yet they were so far beyond him, in every way. He had none of their abilities or experience. He had never saved anyone; he didn’t even really know how to fight! If they were a team, like Justin had said, then what use was he? What could he possibly contribute? 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

They’d talked for hours now, and Justin didn’t want it to end. He’d missed this so much; the companionship, the camaraderie. Having people to talk and laugh with, people he didn’t have to hide anything from. Even his close friendship with Nico had been burdened by his need to keep the truth about his being a Power Ranger a secret. Then, when he and Dad had moved away from Angel Grove, Nico had been left behind along with the rest of his life. 

Saving the guys from Astronema at Storm Blaster’s insistence a few months ago had given him an all too brief taste of what he had longed for: the chance to see his friends and to actually BE a Ranger again. 

Afterwards he’d been excited and on edge for weeks, thinking another call to action could come at any time. But none had. He had never heard from them again, not even during this latest, massive attack. He had sprung into action anyway, trying to live up to the idea of “Once a Ranger, Always a Ranger”, and he had ended up here. 

Now he was finally part of a team again. No, more than just a part; this time he was the leader! That was nearly as frightening as their current situation. He was a Blue Ranger, not a Red one. He’d never been in charge before, not even back when he had been the only veteran on the team. Yet what choice did he have? Solan, Kenny, Jo and Josh were all looking to him for guidance and he couldn’t let them down. It was his duty and responsibility as a Ranger to keep them safe.

And he liked them! They were already his friends. How ridiculous was that? After all the months of loneliness, making friends this quickly and in this place felt like a particularly cruel cosmic joke. 

It was tempting to spend the rest of the night talking, but that would have been stupid. If ever they needed a good night’s sleep, it was tonight. God only knew what tomorrow would bring; they had to be as well-rested and alert as possible. 

“I think it’s time we went to our rooms and got ready to go to bed,” he announced, dealing a sudden death blow to the happy mood around the table. 

“Why?” Josh asked. 

“I’m not even tired!” Jo protested. 

“We have to try to get to sleep early tonight. Tomorrow Archon is going to throw us back into battle and we’ve got to be at our best.” 

Josh nodded in agreement, while Solan still had his head hanging down, as though studying the table. Jo scowled, but rose up from her seat along with the boys. As a group they moved to the door, which opened to reveal a T-junction identical to Archon’s map. The corridor wall and floors were polished metal with only the ceiling composed of the luminous plastic. The lessened light meant it seemed more like early evening than the high noon of the cafeteria. 

Josh gave him and Jo both a high five, while Solan shook their hands. They then headed down the left corridor, while he and Jo turned right. They came to her door first, a metal portal bearing a name plate which slid into the wall at her approach. She turned a surprisingly shy smile on him and Justin couldn’t help smiling back. 

“See you tomorrow,” he said quietly, and with a nod Jo disappeared into her room.

Justin’s own door also opened at his approach and he entered his new quarters with an air of trepidation. What he found inside startled him. 

The bedroom was a twenty-five by twenty-five cube. At the right center wall was a bed with a pillow and comforter. At the center of the back wall stood a wooden desk, a chair and a cordless computer screen without keyboard or tower. At the left wall near the far corner was a bright metallic bureau with three drawers, and preceding it was an open doorway into what was presumably the bathroom. The floor and walls were carpeted, while the ceiling was an exceptionally bright type of light-plastic.

The surprising aspect was the room’s coloration; aside from the desk, chair, bureau and ceiling everything was a varying shade of blue. The bedspread and pillow were both a dark navy blue, while the computer casing was a light powder blue. The floor carpeting was cobalt blue and the wall carpeting was sky blue. It was very soothing and comforting, and that was the whole problem. 

Accepting the Power of the Morhpin Grid led to a minor psychological side-effect: color affinity. A Ranger’s own color quickly became his or her favorite, and most Rangers always wore at least one article of clothing bearing their Ranger color. Fortunately being blue made it pretty easy for him to find something each day. 

Color affinity was a relatively obscure part of Power Ranger lore because it had little positive or negative application. The color would make a Ranger feel better, but that was all. There was no way to use color affinity against a Ranger in battle. And identifying a Ranger from among the civilian populace by his or her predilection for wearing a certain color would be a virtually impossible task, requiring weeks of observation of everyone in the city, and still holding no promise of definitive results. 

The fact that Archon apparently knew of color affinity was profoundly unsettling, raising the question of exactly what else their captor knew. How deeply had he researched his victims? How prepared was he for what they could do?

Despite his psychologically calming surroundings it was a long, long time before Justin relaxed enough to fall asleep. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Will exhaled as he smoothly controlled the bar’s descent toward his bare chest and inhaled as he pressed it overhead again, finishing his fifth set of twenty reps with two thousand pounds. Perspiration shone on his face, but so did a tight, satisfied smile. Working out like this every day was the thing he had missed most from his life at the lab. In the three weeks since his escape he’d only once come across another gym, and he had been there for all of five minutes before he had to break that fat idiot’s neck. Of course that had been a lot of fun too; it was what he had liked best about being away from the lab. 

In the outside world there were no ever-present guards armed with tasers, no failsafe knock-out gas system, and no one who could tell him what to do. Oh, people had still tried to order him around: the fat guy, those two cops, the man with the dog and the pretty dark-haired woman. But they had been weak and hadn’t known what he was capable of. He had shown them, though; he had shown them all. 

Except for the team of five sent to hunt him. They’d known exactly what he was. He’d barely escaped the first time, got one of them the second time, and the third time he’d killed two more plus he had the blonde female by the throat while he faced off against the last one. The next thing he had known he was in that circular room with the other kids. 

Racking the bar Will rose up and sat on the edge of the bench. He was breathing heavily and was virtually drenched in his own sweat. Since it was his favorite he had saved bench-pressing for the end of his hour long work-out, using everything else first. The equipment here was every bit as good as he was used to, and it had felt great to fully exert himself again. 

“Are you going to use that, or just sweat on it?” 

Startled Will turned his head toward the voice. One of the girls was standing near the door, arms folded. Jo was her name, and she was one of the idiots who didn’t want to kill. A sneer curled Will’s lip as he walked over to her and stood staring down at her contemptuously, treating her to an intimidating close-up of his sculpted chest and arms.

“Don’t drip on me!” she snapped, walking around him and over to the bench press. Will turned around to follow her progress, silently fuming. How dare she treat him like that? What did she think she was even doing here? When she lay down on the bench and took hold of the bar he couldn’t keep from snorting. Hadn’t she noticed how much weight was on there? 

As the question went through his head she released the bar, presumably in order to lighten it. Instead she simply laced her hands and cracked her knuckles before grabbing the bar again. The she pressed the two thousand pound bar overhead ten times.

Before Will’s disbelieving eyes the little girl did a total of fifty bench-presses. How was that possible?!? She exhibited none of the powerful muscle mass which defined his form. Her arms were too thin and underdeveloped for her to be lifting so much!

Rising Jo plucked her cap from where she had hung it on the bench and again replaced it on her head brim backwards. She was a little out of breath, but betrayed no other signs of effort. “You should be careful not to overdo it,” she advised. “Don’t try to take on more weight than you can handle.” 

Will nearly exploded in rage. Only the memory of what had happened to the red-head in the dining room kept him rooted in place. She answered his murderous glare with a look of pure defiance as she went over to work the leg press machine. She kept it on the setting he had selected and pumped out fifty leg-presses. When she was done she got up to go, wearing a look of unbearable self-satisfaction. He longed to wipe that smug expression from her face! His fists clenched as she passed by him and he could tell from her stance that she was ready for him to jump her. 

As the door slid open and she walked through it he thought of a way he could humble her. Yes, that would be perfect! He had been allowed to do it at the lab until he was eight, after which it became pointless. It should be allowed here, provided he didn’t try to hurt her. 

“Afraid to really test your strength?” he challenged. 

She stopped dead and turned around. “Test it how?” she demanded. 

“Arm-wrestling,” Will answered. 

“Let’s go!” 

There was no table for them to use, so they sat down on opposite sides of the weight bench. The two clasped hands, Will’s larger hand swallowing up Jo’s. As their simultaneous count reached three each one threw everything he or she had into it. The two hands trembled in mid-air, the product of science striving against the product of magic. And slowly, the product of magic began winning. 

For the first time in six years Will’s arm was being forced down, regardless of his frantic efforts to change the situation. Jo soon had leverage on her side, and after that no matter how hard he tried he could not halt, much less reverse, her progress. Lower and lower his arm went until his hand was at last forced to the bench. 

Jo released him as a triumphant grin broke over her face. A red haze fell over the world and Will’s hands made it to within a millimeter of her neck before the white flash knocked him on his ass. He scrambled up and lunged forward again, but the next concussive flash was considerably more powerful. In too much pain to get back up, Subject W-III (nicknamed “Will”) of Project: Hercules could only watch in silent, impotent fury as Jo stared down at him and walked out without a word. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

She made it three-fourths of the way back to her room before the reaction hit her. She fell back against the wall and slid to the floor, her legs suddenly too weak to support her. Sitting there she took several deep breaths. 

All she’d wanted to do was work off some of her energy so she could sleep. Weight-lifting seemed the perfect way to do that, and anyway it was an activity she had come to enjoy since gaining her powers.

She could have backed out of the room as soon as she came in and saw him sitting there on the weight bench, but that would have been running away. She wasn’t going to retreat from some boy! So she went on with her work-out, and showed him he didn’t intimidate her a bit. When he wanted to arm-wrestle her she had felt a quiver of nervousness, but she still hadn’t backed down. She had given it her best and had proven that she was the stronger one. That part had been great! 

It was what had happened immediately afterward which had left her shaking. 

He had been so fast! She’d barely registered that he was attacking her before he was on the floor. The second time he’d actually turned two midair flips before he hit the ground. She’d looked down to make sure he wasn’t going to come after her again, and that’s when she had seen it. 

His eyes were poisonous chlorine green and they were filled with a blood-freezing hatred. Never had she seen so much loathing from anyone, not even Mega-Nukus! If he had gotten hold of her he wouldn’t have just beaten her up; he would have killed her. 

It shouldn’t have affected her so badly. Hadn’t Archon announced he wanted them to kill each other? Wasn’t the whole point of teaming up with Justin and the rest to keep themselves from killing and being killed? Somehow, though, it hadn’t seemed real until she had looked into Will’s eyes. 

Better that he didn’t find her here. On unsteady legs Jo made her way back to her room. Putting the pajamas she had found in the bureau back on again she slipped back into bed and the ceiling once more fell dark. 

Sleep still refused to come, leaving Jo to toss and turn restlessly. She was tired enough, but her mind refused to shut down. One thought in particular kept coming back: the fact that she had been about to die on her world. She’d be dead now, if Archon hadn’t taken her away. How could that possibly be? How could all the fun and excitement of their two year-long adventure as Beetleborgs have ended like that? She was one of the good guys, and the good guys didn’t die, damnit! They didn’t! 

That was why she and Drew and Roland had never once talked about death; they hadn’t even regarded it as a possibility. Here and now, though, she knew differently. 

Had they ever really been heroes, then? Or were they just kids who didn’t understand what they were getting into? 

Jo ended up staying awake even longer than Justin. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Colin had regained control of himself the moment he had appeared in the dining hall. Since then he had been trying to contain his fury and indignation. That he, the prophesized Anointed One, should be the slave of that miserable human! It was an outrage! How had the mortal managed it? Colin had never even heard of a spell which could control vampires in that way. 

However it had been done, there was only one appropriate punishment for the child’s offense. Nothing would please Colin more than to kill Morthos slowly, over a period of days. To come within sight of him again on the Battlefield, however, would be to risk falling back under his control. 

Colin ground his fangs in frustration. If only he had the Master’s tomes perhaps he could find a way to identify and counter the warlock’s spell, but they were back at the factory in Sunnydale. 

Wait, what was it Archon had said at dinner about the computer? Hadn’t he said the screen would show you whatever you wanted to see? 

Excited Colin leapt from his bed, sending the ceiling blazing back to life and causing a flash of pain to shoot through his half-healed chest. The wound would have been fatal to a mortal, but vampires were much more durable and their bodies mended swiftly. By morning it would be fully healed, as the caltrops wounds already were. 

“Show me the contents of the books in my lair,” he commanded, and tiny icons of each book appeared on the screen before him. With an enormous grin Colin verbally indicated one of the icons and began to read the reproduced text. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

Solan’s sleep was plagued with nightmares. In one of them the flying girl from the dining room looked at him and his throat closed up again, just as it had when that other little girl had almost murdered him. Lanius, by contrast, slept with the assurance of one who had long ago accepted the possibility of perishing the next day; his dreams were of the success of Spartacus’ rebellion and the burning of Rome. Shin-Ren dreamed of returning home in triumph, while Jamie was torn apart by a huge, wolf-like beast in the landscape of her mind.

Alexander also dreamed of victory; Will had a nightmare about being trapped back in the lab for the rest of his life. Kenny, Morthos, Madeline, Jo, Justin and Josh had no dreams that they would remember. 

And so the first day drew to a close. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ


	4. The Second Day

The computer’s insistent beeping pulled Madeline from the depths of slumber. Yawning and stretching she glared at the offending device. It promptly flew off the desk and into the wall, smashing itself in a shower of sparks. 

“YOU HAVE ONE HOUR BEFORE I TRANSPORT YOU TO THE BATTLEFIELD,” Archon’s voice explained. 

Slowly, resentfully, Madeline climbed out of bed and stomped into the bathroom. She relieved herself and turned on the shower, adjusting it to a comfortable temperature before stripping off her pajamas and stepping inside. 

It was so infuriating being ordered around again! On the planet of Tigris she and the other native-born children had been in charge for years now, as was only right. None of the teenagers or grown-ups had telekinesis, so why should they be allowed to set the rules? It was the kids’ world; the others were just allowed to live on it.

Of course the telekinesis wasn’t perfect; you needed physical touch or to be able to clearly see the object you were trying to move, and you could only lift so much for so long. Even with those limitations, however, the power was more than enough to let the kids dominate the planet. 

If only she were still on Tigris! She had gone to sleep as usual and had woken up in this unknown world, where some stupid grown-up (he had to be a grown-up) was trying to make her battle other kids to the death! How dare he?!?! He couldn’t tell her what to do! She had shown him, though. She hadn’t moved a single inch yesterday, virtually daring Archon to do something about it. He hadn’t, but it had been crushingly boring to simply sit there for eight hours. She hadn’t seen anyone else until she was moved to the dining hall. 

Then she had taken a good look at all of the other kids and had confirmed that none of them were from Tigris; she would have recognized them at once if they had been. They therefore lacked her gift, and they also seemed to lack any desire to work together, with the exception of Justin and his friends. 

Justin had the right idea in general, but he was wrong about not killing attackers. That had been the thinking on Tigris too, at first. But the adults just wouldn’t keep to their place! They kept trying to take back control, and in the process a lot of kids had gotten hurt. Some had even died! The children HAD to start killing grown-ups then. After the deaths of the first few dozen the remainder had stopped resisting. It had been understood from that point on that any physical attack on a kid would be punished with death. There were still occasional problems, but for the most part the oldsters now did as they were told. 

The same principle applied here. She would have to kill anyone who attacked her; it was the only punishment which worked. 

Madeline turned off the shower and dried herself with a towel. Slipping on the new clothes she’d found in the bureau she went to the sink and brushed her teeth before flying down the hall to the dining room, in the process passing directly over the tall red-head. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

How in Jupiter’s name could she do that?!? How could a little girl . . . fly? If she sported wings he would have thought her a young harpy, but she had none! What was she? 

Although his stomach was empty, Lanius’ appetite had gone and a sour taste filled his mouth. In the arena he had learned swiftly to control his fear, but there he had always known who he would be facing. It was different here, where his enemies were strange beyond belief. First there was that boy in the odd blue clothing and now this! How could he do battle with someone who could fly? 

His net was the answer. If he still had it he would have been able to bring her down easily, but that cursed Justin boy had burned his weapon! All he had left now was his trident. Could he throw it well enough to impale her the first time? If he missed he doubted he would get a second chance. 

Still brooding over that problem he stomped into the dining room with a scowl. Aside from the flying girl, there were five other people present: the beast-boy with the brown skin and ridged forehead, the small dark-haired child, the pale, very well-built blond, the slant-eyed teen and Justin. There were two people at each table and, like yesterday, there was no conversation between them. Also like yesterday the beast-boy had his chair facing away from the table, his plate on his lap and mug in his hand. 

Heading over to the magical wall he took his meal of eggs and roasted pig meat. The tantalizing aroma helped to revive his appetite and his plate was clean before a dozen chairs were filled. Resisting the temptation to go back for more, he let his eyes roam over his opponents. Some were fully at ease; others, like Solan and the dark-haired girl, were clearly nervous. Their lack of confidence marked them as less important targets if he should come across them in a group. 

Groups! What insanity led them to think they could defy the god in such a way? It was his will that they fight and slay one another until only one remained! The punishments exacted by the Romans for rebelliousness had been horrifying enough; what suffering could a god visit upon mortals for disobedience?

He would not court such a fate. He would do as he was told, as he had always done before joining Spartacus’ cause. That choice had almost brought him death; this one might save his life. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Josh leaned back contentedly in his chair, his bowl of oatmeal lying empty before him. The food here was pretty good, he had to admit. It didn’t make up for being kidnapped and forced to fight to the death, but bright spots are where you find them. 

Everyone at the table seemed down today, in marked contrast to the laughter and camaraderie they’d shared last night. Jo and Justin both looked tired, while Solan was visibly on edge. Oddly enough it was Kenny, currently tucking into his pancakes with a vengeance, who seemed most relaxed. Josh envied the younger boy’s composure. 

He’d had a tough time keeping his own composure when Jo told them all about her encounter with the big blond guy. The fact that she’d out-muscled him was some comfort, but the thought of there being someone on the other side who had super-strength still made him shudder. 

“Remember, our first priority is finding each other. Try to avoid the others if you can and to talk your way out of a fight if you can’t. We need to make them see that we shouldn’t fight each other.”

Justin’s last minute instructions washed over him like some of his teachers’ lectures: he would remember the words later, but currently his mind was focused elsewhere, on a different matter. If they were going to out in the Battlefield until dinner time . . . well, why not try it? It couldn’t hurt anything. 

Rising Josh walked over to the food dispenser and asked apples, bananas and Three Musketeers bars. A plate of each materialized and with a little finesse he took hold of all three and brought them back to the table with a grin. 

“You’re going to eat all that for breakfast?” Jo asked disbelievingly. 

“Nope, but I figured we might need a snack for later,” Josh explained. 

He caught Justin’s eye and the boy’s serious expression lightened. Reaching out Justin stuffed two apples and two candy bars into the pockets of his blue jeans. 

“Good idea, Josh. Thanks.” 

Catching on Jo grabbed a few bananas while Solan was turning a silvery Three Musketeers bar over in his hands, looking confused. 

“It’s a candy bar. Take a few along. You’ll like them, trust me.”

Still looking uncertain Solan took one candy bar to go with the apples and bananas he had. Meanwhile Kenny dumped the remainder of the food from all three plates into his backpack. 

“Why have you got a backpack?” Josh suddenly asked. Kenny had taken the backpack with him from under the table when he had left the dining hall yesterday. There had been no chance to ask him about it then, but now Josh was curious. 

“I was on my way home from school when the accident happened and I was wearing my backpack.”

Okay, that made sense. But then why had Kenny bothered to bring it with him from his room? He hadn’t thought of using it to carry food until just now. So what purpose would have been served by taking an empty backpack into the Battlefield?

Before Josh could ask Archon spoke. 

“READY YOURSELVES FOR TRANSPORT!” 

Justin smiled and looked each of them in the face. “I’ll see you all soon,” he promised. “Stay strong and we’ll get through this, together.” 

Josh had just enough time to answer with a nod and a hopeful grin. Then they were gone. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

When he realized where he was Colin threw himself to the sand in a total panic, his arms instinctively and uselessly covering his head. He curled into a ball as he anticipated the awful agony he would feel when every cell in his body ignited. He expected each second to be his last. 

And nothing happened.

Slowly he raised his arms and lifted his head. He was in a desert, facing a range of sand dunes. Behind him and to his sides the terrain consisted of a flat and featureless plain. Above him the sun shone down from a cloudless, deep blue sky, bathing him in its deadly radiance. 

At least it should be deadly. None of his kind could survive exposure to open sunlight (assuming the Gem of Amarra was indeed a myth). Yet here he was, completely unaffected. It was almost like being mortal again, an altogether disturbing sensation. 

“YOUR VULNERABILITY TO SUNLIGHT WOULD BE TOO GREAT A DISADVANTAGE, SO I HAVE REMOVED IT FOR THE DURATION OF THE TOURNAMENT,” Archon explained. 

So that was why he was still among the undead! He should probably be grateful for the consideration. 

“CONTESTANTS, THERE IS WATER TO BE FOUND” Archon advised, and Colin assumed that now their captor was speaking simultaneously to everyone present. 

He didn’t need water, of course, but the same couldn’t be said for the others. Putting them in this environment and holding out the promise of water was certainly one way to keep everyone on the move, at least until they located the water source. It would likely get pretty bloody there; maybe the resulting conflict would wipe out Morthos. 

Colin certainly hoped so, since in his books, formerly the Master’s texts, he had been unable to find any way to shield himself from the warlock’s magical control. He hadn’t even found any references to the existence of such a spell! That was surprising, and more than a little worrying. What other unknown magic did the warlock have in that book? 

Colin started toward the sand dunes and abruptly stopped. It was time to do something unexpected. Turning on his heel he headed in the opposite direction. Within six steps he ran into an invisible barrier. Experimentation revealed that the barrier stretched as high as he could reach, and curved to embrace the area just outside of the sand dunes. 

He stood silently for a moment. Then he turned to his right and started walking, following the perimeter of the barrier. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

Madeline shot up into the air, relishing the feeling of flying. The heat was a pain, but this was still so much better than being locked in that rotten maze! 

She barely had time for that thought before her head slammed into something with a shock that rattled her teeth. She fell back toward the ground and hit the sand hard, feet first. There was a loud cracking sound and she screamed at the terrible flash of pain from her left leg. Darkness consumed her. 

She awoke to a throbbing migraine and a steady pulse of agony from left leg. The shifting of her limb which accompanied sitting up nearly made her black out again. Looking down she saw that shortly below the knee her leg was bent to the right at an unnatural angle. It was bloodied, heavily bruised, and was that . . . was that a fragment of broken bone sticking out? 

Quickly turning her head to one side Madeline vomited up her breakfast, her stomach continuing to heave spasmodically even after it had emptied itself. Spitting to get the worst of the taste out of her mouth she turned back away from the mess and started to cry. She couldn’t help herself.

“I HATE YOU!” she screamed up at Archon furiously. “I HATE YOU!” 

When at last she had regained control of herself she rose up into the air, taking the greatest care to keep her shattered leg stable. She floated forward about two feet above the ground, looking for someone else, for anyone else. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

The heat didn’t bother Jo too much. Summer had always been her favorite season, and this wasn’t much worse than one of the hotter July days. She did wish she’d worn some lighter clothes, and wished even more that her team had stocked up on water instead of food. 

What troubled her was the revelation she’d had last night. Since they got their powers she, Drew and Roland had just been playing at being heroes. They’d never understood how much danger they were in, that they really could fail and die. 

She knew better now. She hoped fervently that back home Drew and Roland had finished off Mega-Nukus and his minions. The fact that they weren’t here among the other kids snatched away from death made her think that they had indeed won. If so they were safe, and with Mega-Nukus gone no one would endanger them again. That thought made it easier to keep going. 

When she saw a figure ahead emerge from behind the cover of a dune Jo sprinted forward, at least as best she could in this sand. She was ready to fight, but it wasn’t an enemy: it was Solan. 

Her first reaction was disappointment. She’d been hoping to run into Justin, or maybe Josh, not Solan or Kenny. The former two could be partners; the latter two could only be burdens. 

It was a horrible thing to think, and her feeling of guilt only deepened when she saw the naked relief on Solan’s face. 

“Jo!” he exclaimed happily. 

“Hi, Solan,” she replied, forcing a smile. “Have you run into anyone else yet?” 

He shook his head, his long blond hair whipping from side to side. “No, you’re the first person I’ve seen.” 

Jo nodded, unsurprised. Solan’s path made a right angle where it met hers, so she split the difference by heading off from the point of the angle. He fell in beside her. 

“Ever been in a desert before?” she asked him.

“No. I’ve never traveled outside of my village,” he admitted. “Have you?”

“Mom took us to the Eureka dunes once. It was kind of like this: hot, huge mounds of sand, way bigger than these.” 

The conversation gradually petered out as they saved their breath for walking. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ  
For this terrible place his garb made sense. The other contestants might well be roasting in their strange clothing, and if so all the better! A wise gladiator seized every advantage he could get. 

It was midmorning when he heard the howl, coming from somewhere to his left. He stopped and turned in that direction. A moment later the source of the howl came into view. 

It was a beast of some kind, black-furred, looking like a combination of wolf and man. Though fearsome to behold, its appearance also betrayed signs of weakness. The dark fur was damp and matted down. The creature’s maw hung open, its tongue lolling from its muzzle. Its forelegs seemed to tremble as it walked forward. 

Gladiators had sometimes fought lions in the arena for the pleasure of the Romans, but he had never witnessed such a battle himself. He didn’t know what tactics to use, how to fight it. Sweat rolled down his forehead and he tightened his grip on his trident as the creature padded toward him. 

His weapon was head down to fend off the creature. It snarled at him, and seemed to sink back onto its haunches. He realized almost too late what it was about to do and reversed his trident as it sprang. 

The creature slammed into him, its claws ripping at his shoulders. Blood spurted from the deep slashes and he bellowed as he fell backward. The butt of his trident hit the sand before he did and his hands slid down the shaft, tightening their grip near the base. Directly above him the monster snapped madly, its jaws flecked with reddish foam. Its paws waved wildly in midair, its entire weight supported by the three tines of the trident piercing its chest. 

Lanius struggled to keep the trident upright, desperate to keep the thing off him. Bloody drool fell on his face and his wounded shoulders screamed with the effort. The creature’s thrashing proved too much for him to handle and he let it fall to his right side. It scrabbled at the sand, but the weapon effectively pinned it to the ground, the long shaft keeping it from rolling onto its stomach. Staggering to his feet Lanius watched the beast’s efforts weaken. Its head thumped to the sand, the tongue still lolling out. Its chest heaved one final time and did not rise again. 

His shoulders had been shredded, the wounds as bad as anything he had suffered in the arena, and he could not move his arms without pain. Yet his dominant feeling was elation. He had done it! He had killed this creature all by himself! None of his previous victories in combat had ever been half as glorious! He could triumph here-he could win! 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

This heat was insufferable! He had been forced to strip down to almost nothing to avoid collapsing. His padded leather armor lay in the sand back where he had first appeared. He retained only his undergarments, his boots, his bat’leth and his d’k tahg. 

But he was a Klingon warrior; he would triumph no matter what obstacles were placed in his way. Now if only he could find a foe to triumph over! This wasteland seemed empty of opponents. 

A half-mile later what he saw gave the lie to that statement. There were tracks in the sand before him; an enemy! Alexander turned to follow the tracks, loping along now. It would cost him in energy, but he had to catch up with whoever had made these footprints. 

He followed the trail around half a dozen sand dunes before glimpsing his prey just ahead of him. The human was wearing blue shorts that ended raggedly above his knees. He had on a blue shirt and had brown hair. With decidedly mixed feelings he saw that it was Justin, the boy who had spoken out against fighting yesterday. 

From this distance Alexander could probably have thrown his d’k tahg into the human’s back, but he would never do such a cowardly thing. 

“Human!” Alexander yelled. 

The boy reacted quickly, whirling around and twisting his left wrist to make some kind of device appear on his arm. He inserted a key into the device with his right hand and turned it. His clothes transformed into a form-fitting blue and white spandex suite and a helmet literally assembled itself around his head. In his now gloved right hand a sword appeared.

It was a flashy display, but not truly impressive. Dropping his d’k tahg to the sand he gripped his bat’leth in both hands and advanced toward his enemy. 

“I don’t want to fight you!” Justin shouted. 

“Because you’re a coward?” Alexander sneeringly asked, not checking his forward movement.

“Because there‘s no reason for us to fight!” Justin insisted. “I don’t even know you! Why should we try to kill each other just on Archon’s say so?” 

It was a good argument, one which had given Alexander pause yesterday when it was first presented. It was galling in the extreme to be forced to do battle in this way. A Klingon warrior fought for his House and his honor; he did not fight at the whim of extra-dimensional aliens. Saving his life in no way gave Archon ownership of it. Had the being been accessible Alexander might well have challenged him for his arrogance in assuming he could dictate to a Klingon warrior. With Archon remaining hidden, however, such an action was impossible. Their captor’s cowardly refusal to meet with them face to face was a sign of weakness and an additional reason to hold him in contempt. 

Alexander had halted while he considered Justin’s words and the boy seemed to have taken encouragement from that. Lowering his sword he leaned forward and spoke with greater enthusiasm.

“You stayed after most of the others left. You must agree with me a little!” 

“I thought your defiance of Archon might mean you were worthy of respect,” Alexander admitted. “But then you talked of sparing those who attack you! No true warrior would speak so! Those are the words of one who fears battle and the bloodshed which goes with it.” 

“I’ve killed before, when I had to,” Justin admitted quietly. “I won’t kill here. We’re all Archon’s prisoners, and we need to join together instead of murdering each other like he wants.”

“To kill when battle has already been joined is not murder. You are a fool, human,” Alexander judged harshly, moving his bat’leth into attack position. “Defend yourself!” 

Justin’s straight sword barely blocked Alexander’s cut to his right side. At once he saw his advantage. The greater weight of his weapon and the superior strength of his arms made it difficult for his foe to parry his strikes. He struck at the left and Justin blocked again. He feinted at the boy’s legs and then brought his bat’leth up and down in an overhead blow. Justin’s sword rose, almost too late, to halt the weapon with a clang. Alexander grinned fiercely as he exerted himself, forced the locked blades lower and lower. He would split that helmet open with his enemy’s own weapon!

Suddenly Justin dropped to one knee and tilted his sword diagonally down and to the left, allowing the bat’leth to scrape along the edge and go into the sand. Next he brought his sword around and down onto Alexander’s right hand, striking with the flat of his blade. 

Instinctively Alexander drew back his hand, leaving him holding his bat’leth with only his left hand. Though the effort might well have strained something in his arm, he used his hold to whip the blunt back part of his bat’leth into the kneeling boy’s head, knocking Justin sprawling. 

Alexander gripped his bat’leth with both hands again, but before he could use it he tumbled onto his back in the sand, courtesy of Justin’s leg sweep. The boy flipped athletically to his feet, while Alexander had to use his right hand to help himself rise.

Again Justin struck with the flat of his blade, this time hitting Alexander’s left hand. The bat’leth fell from his grasp, but he reacted by seizing Justin’s right wrist and twisting it unmercifully. The sword rotated in a half circle before his enemy was forced to release it, the weapon imbedding itself point first in the ground between them. Alexander immediately relinquished his hold to take the blade, but at almost the same instant Justin grabbed his wrists! The human fell backwards, pulling Alexander onto his boots and incidentally knocking the standing sword over. His coiled legs launched Alexander over his head and the three-quarters Klingon hit the sand hard! 

Scrambling up as quickly as he could he was surprised to see that Justin had not taken the sword or bat’leth; both weapons lay forgotten behind him. Instead the human whipped his left boot across Alexander’s face in a powerful roundhouse kick. Alexander staggered back, blood oozing from his cut lip. Justin moved in with a quick one-two punch which rattled his skull. Alexander’s return punch was blocked by his foe’s left arm, while Justin right fist hit him in the gut. An instant later Alexander’s left fist struck Justin in the temple. 

Both boys reeled, but Alexander seized the initiative. With a certain vengeful satisfaction he executed a leg sweep of his own, dropping the surprised human. Throwing himself on top of his enemy Alexander locked his hands around the boy’s neck and began to throttle him, snarling in excitement. 

The human’s hand scrambled ineffectually at his own before closing around his thumbs. Alexander snarled again, this time in frustration, as his stranglehold was broken. Then Justin’s hands balled into fists and smashed themselves into Alexander’s throat.

Gagging Alexander tumbled off Justin as the latter lurched upward. He was struggling to his feet when a white-gloved palm smashed itself down between his eyes. Dazed, he couldn’t avoid the second palm strike or the subsequent plunge into unconsciousness. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

After a couple more hours without finding anyone or any water, Jo was starting to get irritated. Yesterday’s wandering had been bad enough; walking in this hot sun sucked! Her gaze turned to the nearest sand dune. They could climb it to get a better view, spy out the lay of the land. She knew from experience, however, that climbing a sand dune was a frustrating experience. You hardly seemed to get anywhere for the effort you put in, and scaling this one would require more energy than she wanted to spend. Unless . . . 

“What are you looking at?” Solan asked, having stopped right along with her. 

She glanced from him, to the sand dune, and back again. Slowly a grin spread across her face. “I was thinking that one of us needs to get to the top of that sand dune and take a look around.” 

“I’ll do it,” he volunteered. 

“Have you ever climbed a sand dune before?” 

“No.” 

“It’s hard work, but I’ve got a quick way to get to the top.” 

Cracking her knuckles, she took a running jump and soared into the air, landing almost at the peak of the dune. Scrambling up the final few feet she looked eagerly in every direction. 

There was no sign of anyone else around, but off about sixty degrees to their right-palm trees, standing around a pool of water. An oasis! 

The sight very sight of it seemed to double her thirst and she scrambled down the dune as quickly as she could. 

“Did you see someone?” Solan asked. 

“No, but I did see water! Come on!” 

She took off at a run, leaving it to Solan to catch up. 

The pool was about twenty feet wide and fifty feet long. The water was clear and just looking at it kicked her thirst into overdrive. She knelt down at the edge and hesitated. Archon had said there would be water; he hadn’t said anything about it being safe to drink. It could make her sick, or worse. 

It was a chance she’d have to take. Drawing in a deep breath Jo scooped up water in her cupped hands and drank. It tasted wonderful! She downed mouthful after mouthful, finally quenching her thirst. Beside her Solan was sipping directly from the oasis, his face hidden by his hair.

Jo sat back and dug out the bananas she had taken along. Peeling the first one she wolfed it down in about a minute. She ate the second banana at a slower pace, while Solan bit into an apple. Should she save the third and last one? No, it was better to eat it now and have the energy. She looked over at Solan when she was done and saw that he had finished two apples. Now he was trying, with some difficulty, to figure out how to eat a Three Musketeers bar. 

“Here, let me open it for you,” she offered, taking the candy from his unresisting hand. She split the wrapped in two in one brisk motion, but the heat apparently hadn’t done the chocolate any good; it had melted. Solan stared at the sticky mess doubtfully. 

“Try it,” Jo urged. 

Hesitantly he took a bite. His eyes widened as he chewed and he took another bite before he had even swallowed the first. He wolfed down the gooey candy bar much faster than she had eaten her first banana, finishing up by licking the remaining chocolate from the wrapper. 

“Good?” Jo asked, already knowing the answer.

“It’s amazing! This must be what ambrosia tastes like!” he enthused. “Is it rare in your world?” 

“No, it’s really easy to get,” Jo assured him. “Mom usually buys Drew and me candy whenever we go with her to the supermarket.”

“A market which sold food such as this would be super indeed,” Solan observed solemnly, and Jo couldn’t help giggling. 

Abruptly he turned away from her, looking out toward the far end of the oasis. Had she hurt his feelings?

“Solan?” she asked. He whipped back toward her, glaring at her. 

“I don’t come from your world! I couldn’t have imagined any of the miracles you and Josh and Justin have told me about! In my village we tilled the fields and harvested grain so we would have food for the winter. We had meat only when the hunters are successful and we never had it more than three times in a month.”

He snatched up the discarded wrapper and held it before her in his clenched fist. “This candy bar, which you say is so common on your world, tasted better than anything I’ve ever eaten. Think on that.” 

Surprised by his burst of ferocity, Jo took her time replying. “I wasn’t making fun of you. It just sounded funny the way you said it.” 

Solan said nothing for a few minutes. Then he asked, “Do you think the others will find us here?” 

“I don’t know,” Jo answered honestly. From the right angles the oasis was visible from a considerable distance; their own view had been blocked a line of sand dunes. “I hope so. In a bit I’ll go up on one of the dunes and look around.” 

Solan gave a brief nod and his expression softened. They sat and rested together, the only two with full bellies and without thirst in the entire Battlefield. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

He had left the alien lying unconscious in the sand. He had considered waiting for his opponent to awaken and trying once more to persuade him, but in the end had decided against it. He had no desire to get into another fight if the kid still wasn’t willing to listen to reason; better to talk with him at dinner tonight, where violence was forbidden. Also, he didn’t really think he could afford to sit and wait around. He needed to find water, and more importantly, he needed to find his friends. 

The bruises he’d picked up, combined with the heat and his thirst, meant he was moving more slowly toward those goals than he would have liked, but it would have been stupid of him to overexert himself. 

His initial plan, after seeing the terrain when he had first appeared, had been to bring his friends to him. He had tried to summon his Hand Blasters with the intention of using them as flares. The sight of those blue bolts soaring into the sky would have been visible for miles around and would have hopefully brought his friends racing to his location. Of course it might have brought everyone else in as well, but that was a risk he’d have been willing to take. Like all teams they were strongest together, and he figured that together they would have stood a good chance of defeating their mutually antagonistic enemies. That in turn would have been a great example to the others of the power of teamwork, and of the benefits of joining together. 

When he’d tried to make his Hand Blasters appear, though, they hadn’t. Archon hadn’t specifically mentioned them yesterday, but he could only assume that their absence was part of the downgrade of his powers. He could have found that out if he’d tried summoning them before, but they would only have been good for blowing fist-sized holes in people in the maze, so he’d had no reason to call for them then. 

How would his teammates be doing now, without him? Of the four, Solan was the one he was most worried about. The Greek boy’s lack of training and the relative primitiveness of his world put him in the greatest danger of any of them. They’d all seen that last night, including Solan, who had nonetheless kept the same tight lid on his fear which he’d maintained ever since Justin had met him. 

That was pretty impressive. One of the many things he’d learned as a Ranger was that courage wasn’t the absence of fear; courage was carrying on in spite of your fear.

Kenny had been pretty brave too, given that he was only a boxer. In fact being willing to leave their group so soon last night put him ahead of Justin! He hadn’t wanted to leave the others; talking with them and learning about them had helped push away the fear and anxiety. Maybe Kenny didn’t appreciate how dangerous their situation actually was? It had to seem like some kind of science fiction story to him. Hopefully nothing had yet happened to bring the reality of their situation home to him.

Jo would be doing all right, he was sure. With her super-strength she was probably the best-equipped of any of them to live through this madness. 

Josh would almost certainly survive his first encounter with an enemy, but after that he he’d be in as much danger as Solan and Kenny. 

Without consciously meaning to Justin quickened his pace. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Thank goodness he’d thought to bring some food along! He wouldn’t have wanted to have to march in this heat with nothing to eat.

Of course, if he’d been just a little smarter, maybe he would have thought to bring along some WATER too. Then he might not feel like he was about to keel over and die. Where was this water Archon had talked about? And where was everyone else? 

Not that he had any desire to run across one of the killer kids; walking alone was way better than that. By the same token, though, he would much rather meet up with one of his allies than continue his cross-desert trek by himself. Just the presence of another person would be comforting. Yesterday had reminded him of the thrill and satisfaction of being part of a team, working together to beat the bad guys and save the day. Besides, conversation would give his mind something to focus on. Trudging alone through the desert gave him too much time to think, and none of his thoughts were particularly cheerful.

The worst of them concerned the immediate future. If they couldn’t win over everyone to their side . . . what were they going to do with the hold-outs? 

Even if they did manage to get everyone to cooperate, they still had no way to escape. If they all refused to play, would Archon let them go? Or would he subject to some punishment even worse than this? 

There must be a surer way out of this, if he could just think of it. A brainstorming session after dinner would be a good way to go. If they put all of their heads together they should be able to come up with a better plan. 

It was early afternoon when he spotted a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned in that direction just as whoever it was disappeared back behind a sand dune. It seemed his alone time was over. 

He approached the dune with care, ready to defend himself with his fists or, if necessary, his Time Warrior powers. There was no movement from either side as he closed in. The kid could be running directly away from him, using the dune as cover, but he doubted it. It wasn’t like he was that scary, especially to someone determined to murder all opposition. 

Of course he could always take this chance to run. The idea did have a certain superficial appeal, except for two things: First, he didn’t have much energy left; he wouldn’t be able to run for long without exhausting himself. Second, the thought of leaving an enemy at his back was even more unsettling than the prospect of facing one head on. 

So, left or right, left or right . . . only one choice, really.

Josh scrambled determinedly up the face of the dune. He eventually reached the summit just as the person he was trying to sneak up on did, from the other side. 

“Kenny!” he exclaimed in a mixture of surprise and relief. The smaller blond boy’s expression was so startled it was almost comical. He seemed to be in good shape, not looking as tired as Josh felt. Instead of wearing his backpack he was holding it by its straps in his left hand. There must still be food in it judging by the way it hung and Kenny probably meant to use it as a bludgeoning weapon against his enemies. Not a bad idea, although he should have zipped it up first; there was still an open gap at the top.

“Why’d you hide instead of coming out to join me?” Josh asked.

“I didn’t know it was you. I ducked back behind the sand dune as soon as I saw there was another person around,” Kenny explained with some heat. “Have you used your powers yet today?”

“No,” Josh answered, a bit taken aback. 

“Good!” Kenny declared as he begun down the dune. 

A little nonplussed, Josh followed him. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ  
He came into view about two hundred feet to her left, and she saw him only seconds before he spotted her. He was bare-chested, giving her a clear view of both his unnaturally pale skin and his extremely powerful musculature. Across the distance their eyes locked, her warm brown meeting his cold green. Very slowly he smiled and the predatory leer sent a shiver down Jo’s spine. He broke into a sprint toward her and she reacted by retreating down the far end of her sand dune, back into the bowl of the oasis. 

Solan hurried to her side, asking, “Who did you see?”

“It’s the blond guy with the short hair,” Jo told him. “The one I met him in the weight room last night.” 

Solan paled and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. “Which direction is he coming from?”   
Jo turned and pointed toward where she had seen Will. “He should be coming straight through there.” 

And what would they do when he arrived? They could try running, but he’d certainly chase them and even if she could outdistance him, Solan couldn’t. She didn’t think there was any point in trying to talk to him. That left facing him head-on, without her Baton or blaster, just her raw strength against his.

Caught up in her thoughts she almost missed what Solan said next. “I can hide behind that dune there and charge him from the side. Maybe I can distract him long enough for you to knock him out.” 

She stared at him in shock. He was serious! He really meant to charge their attacker, even thought he didn’t know anything about fighting. Solan started toward the dune and she grabbed him by the arm, bringing him to an abrupt halt. 

She couldn’t let him do it. Even if he did manage to distract the crew-cut kid, the danger was too great. Solan would be lucky to survive a single punch from their enemy. She wouldn’t sacrifice his life for a momentary advantage. He was her teammate and she had to protect him. 

Just like she’d had to protect her brother against Mega-Nukus. Yet it was coming to Drew’s defense which had almost gotten her killed. If she had to split her attention here between fighting and keeping Solan safe she risked history repeating itself, especially if Solan tried to help her. And he would, she knew that now. So what could she do? 

“I want you to run!” she ordered, releasing his arm and indicating the direction opposite the one their attacker was coming from. “Go to the other side of the oasis and run. If I stop him I’ll come after you, and I’ll shout “Beetleborg.” Don’t stop running until you hear me shout that word. Got it?” 

“I can’t leave you to face him alone!” Solan protested angrily. 

“You can’t help me,” she countered sharply. “You can only get hurt, and I can’t protect both of us.” 

Over Solan’s shoulder the threat came into view. He skidded to a halt at the other end of the oasis and began to approach more cautiously. They were out of time to argue. 

“GO!” she shouted in Solan’s face, shoving him behind her and hoping to God he would do as he was told. 

Solan stared at her, an indecipherable expression on his face. Then he turned and ran. 

The other boy had stopped his advance and stood watching them intently. His eyes followed Solan as the latter went around the end of the water and headed back off into the desert. Jo was ready to cut him off if he tried to go after Solan, but he didn’t. She hadn’t really thought he would; she was the one he wanted. 

Steeling herself for the fight of her life, Jo cracked her knuckles and went forward to meet him. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

He fled the impending conflict as swiftly as he could, not letting his ambivalence slow him down. A part of him was glad to go. The thought of trying to fight a super-strong enemy was terrifying! Yet running away brought shame to equal his fear. They were supposed to be a team, helping each other out whenever possible. To abandon Jo this way seemed so cowardly, so wrong. He didn’t have to go, just because she had told him to. He could have disobeyed her and stayed. In the end it wasn’t his fear or her orders which had led him to retreat; it was what had happened in his past. 

Two years ago he’d stayed to fight when Dagnine’ men came to capture him, ignoring Gabrielle’s desperate cries to run. He’d been sure that by staying he could help her defeat them! Instead they’d defeated Gabrielle and had captured him with ease. It had fallen to Xena to rescue him, since he certainly couldn’t break free on his own. 

A few days ago he’d insisted to Xena and Kaleipus that he could take care of himself. Almost immediately afterward that strange little girl had nearly slain him, and he hadn’t been able to stop her. 

Only moments ago Jo had bluntly told him that he couldn’t help at all in the battle. Her words were insulting, humiliating . . . and true. Painful as it was to admit, she was right. Every time he’d tried to fight in the past he had lost. Every time! He had neither the skills of a warrior like Justin, nor a superhuman power such as Jo or Josh possessed. He wasn’t even trained in boxing like Kenny! Perhaps with a staff he could have done a little good, but without one he was worse than useless, and Jo had known it. That was why she had sent him away

So once again, he was retreating and allowing a woman to fight his battles for him. No, not even a woman this time-a girl! A girl who was only a year older than he was! 

He had protested to Xena indignantly that he wasn’t a baby and now that denial rang mockingly in his ears. He couldn’t protect himself and he had to depend on others to take care of him. So what truly separated him from a mewling infant?

ΩΩΩΩΩ

They circled each other warily, neither willing to make the first move. 

It was frustrating to have to be this cautious. Normally he would simply charge in and tear his victim to pieces, but he couldn’t risk that here. She was almost as strong as he was, and could do just as much damage. In an all-out fight there was every chance that they would both be killed.

How to strike at her without taking a blow in return? Perhaps if he were to uproot one of these trees and use it as a club? No, she would simply catch it and they would have a tug of war over the trunk. That would accomplish nothing. He needed something which would put her at his mercy. 

That was it! Will held his hands with his palms facing her and his fingers spread. “Ready to test your strength again?” he taunted. 

Jo frowned at him and didn’t respond. 

“Come on!” he challenged.

Slowly Jo stepped up before him. She was tense, clearly ready to react if he attacked, but he simply kept his hands in the same position. Distrustfully she interlaced her fingers with his and the next second both of them were pouring everything they had into forcing the other’s hands back. 

It was exactly the same as last night. Then he had been tired from his work-out and so had lost. Now she once again held the advantage, having located this oasis and rested here before he arrived. As before her strength began to overwhelm his. This time, however, Archon wouldn’t interfere with his actions. 

Will’s right knee shot up and impacted the junction of her legs. The blow was less effective with females, but it still worked. Jo gasped and began to crumple as the strength suddenly went out of her hands. Will was able to break them both without difficulty. Then he shattered her wrists as well before ramming her down to the sand and mounting her. 

Sitting securely atop his victim he eagerly tore away her shirt and bra. His smile widened as he admired the swell of her breasts and the pleasing creaminess of her skin. Here was an opportunity to do again what he had only done once before. This was going to be so much fun! 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

The pain from the wounds in his shoulders was excruciating. With every step he took the wounds seemed to throb and he could barely keep hold of his trident. He needed water, and he needed it now. He couldn’t go on like this. 

He stumbled around a dune and looking left he saw it: WATER! He lurched eagerly toward the crescent-shaped body of water, hardly noticing the surrounding trees and grass. Reaching the edge at last he dropped to his knees at the shore and drank long and deeply. He choked trying to drink too much at once, but even that felt good. At last he had cooled his parched throat, and here was a place for him to rest and recover. A good place, since those arriving after him would certainly be weakened by thirst. They would thus be easier opponents, a boon which he was not ungrateful for. 

He had been there for some time when she came into view. She was floating in mid-air, but the fear and awe inspired by that sight was mitigated by her clearly broken leg. The sight of it heartened Lanius, until he realized that she must have triumphed over whoever had inflicted the injury on her, just as he had triumphed over the beast. 

He didn’t hesitate, but raced straight toward her. When he closed to within ten feet he slid to a stop and with every ounce of his strength hurled the trident at her chest. The pain in his right shoulder flared at the effort and he couldn’t help screaming. 

His weapon flew straight and true toward her—halting in mid-air. It hung there, just as she did. Then it flipped around and shot back toward Lanius! It occurred too quickly, and was too unexpected, for him to dodge.

The tines drove deep into his chest, the unbearable agony blotting out the pain from his other wounds. He dropped to his knees, coughing up blood when he tried to scream. He pitched over onto his side, trying without success to make his hands grip the trident so he could pull it out. Then, mercifully, all of his pain was gone. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

This wretched desert made him long for the cool shadows of the tunnels. The sun beat down on him incessantly and walking on the sand was more tiring than walking on a stone floor. His long, flowing robe had proven too warm and he carried it slung over his left shoulder as he soldiered on. Even holding onto his blessed book had become a strain. 

After what seemed like centuries he saw a glimmer of hope up ahead. There, in the distance, there was a flash of greenery. Shifting course he soon saw that it was some odd kind of tree, placed with several others around a circular pool. Water, at last! 

There was someone standing beside it, dressed in a very strange blue garment. A sword and an odd-looking helmet lay on the ground by his feet. It was the brown-haired boy, the fool who had called on them not to kill anyone! What was his name? Justin, that was it! 

“There’s no reason for us to fight!” Justin called out, having noticed his approach. No reason? What about winning their freedom? Wasn’t that reason enough? Why had Archon included such an idiot in the contest?

“I don’t want to hurt you. What’s your name?”

“Morthos of Northshire,” he said, trying to keep his feelings from his voice. His gaze flicked past Justin, to the calm pool. He needed water, but he would have to deal with this wretch first. 

“Go ahead and drink,” Justin offered, moving off to one side. “We can talk afterwards.” 

It sounded like a simple-minded ruse, but he saw the boy’s gaze linger on his spindly frame and pock-marked visage. On Justin’s face was an expression of . . . pity. Pity! How dare this simple-minded insect pity him! The weakness of his body meant nothing, not when he had the support of his Lord! That aid was worth far more than the pity of “good” people, an emotion which had never helped or changed anything! Pity hadn’t saved him from death by smallpox; only the true God’s grace had. 

Still, this fool’s misguided compassion would be useful; it would make him vulnerable to mesmerism. 

Approaching slowly he gave his enemy a wide berth, deliberately going to the far end of the pool to drink. Justin watched him closely, but made no other move, content to let him drink at a place of his choosing. With the black robe draped over his left side his kris dagger and its sheath were fortunately hidden from view; only the belt they were attached to was visible. Nor did the presence of his book seem to bother Justin. 

The cool water was indescribably delicious, slaking his burning thirst. He drank long and deeply before raising his head from the pool. Deliberately biting his tongue hard enough to draw the necessary blood, he muttered an enchantment he knew by heart. Justin didn’t react, but then he was too far to hear away what Morthos was saying. 

Standing up he looked over at Justin, who immediately began babbling something about defying Archon. 

“So you don’t want to hurt me?” he asked, his voice layered with hypnotic power. 

“Of course not!” Justin replied indignantly. 

“You want to help me.” This time it was a declaration rather than a question.

“Yes,” Justin answered, speaking more slowly than before.

“You want to save my life,” he declared.

“Yes,” Justin responded sleepily, his eyes half-closing. 

“I can help you too. If you listen to me we can save everyone!” Morthos’ lip curled involuntarily with contempt, but his expression shouldn’t matter now. Justin had been mesmerized and such a trance could rarely be broken by the victim. The difficult part was catching the victim’s mind in the first place; the presence of any negative emotion toward the caster would prevent the target from succumbing. Against a trusting fool like Justin, though, the spell was a wonderful weapon. 

It was actually the first bit of sorcery Enos had ever taught him. At the old warlock’s direction he had often used it to ensnare travelers on the road, bringing them back to the tower. Such people were as fine an offering to the Lord as anyone, and they were considerably easier to capture than the villagers. He suspected now that Enos had also preferred travelers because he wanted to avoid too greatly depleting the population, or alternatively driving the villagers to acts of desperation. The latter was a factor Morthos should have considered himself. 

The village’s inhabitants had never been as completely cowed as he had thought. They had instead lived in a balance of terror and hate. Enos’ death had greatly diminished the terror, while Sarah’s abduction and sacrifice had spiked the hate. 

After Enos took him in Sarah was the only one of his former friends who would still talk to him. At night, without her parents’ knowledge, she would sneak out to see him. She didn’t flinch from his face, or make the accursed sign of the cross at him. She had still trusted him. That was what had made her so easy to mesmerize.  
Morthos walked off the grass and back onto the sand. “Come over here, Justin,” he urged. Lethargically the boy moved to obey. Morthos unsheathed his Kris dagger and drew a pentacle in the sand, six foot in diameter. Then he set the book down and opened it to the last few pages. With exquisite care he began etching the appropriate symbols, but the sand was too fluid to hold the shapes. Morthos stopped, frustrated. How could he . . . ?

“Justin, give me your helmet,” Morthos ordered. Using the helmet as a bucket he scooped up water from the oasis and poured it between the lines of the pentacle, hardening the sand enough for his purposes. 

This would not be an ordinary blood offering. No, this boy’s life would go for a far greater purpose. He would use Justin to summon one of the lesser denizens of the Pit to his side, and he would then send that malefic being out to claim the lives of the remaining children.

Morthos’ hands shook as he inscribed the final runes. This was a ritual of such risk and power that even Enos had never dared to attempt it. To ask so much of his Lord was bold indeed, dangerously so. Could he take such a chance? He, who had already failed once and who was now on trial for his life? Perhaps it would be better to simply give Justin as an offering of thanks for this second chance. 

On the other hand, how could he hope to pass his test if he did not use the full extent of his abilities? Maybe his Lord wanted him to demonstrate how much he had learned, what an apt pupil he had been. Succeeding in summoning a demon would surely prove him worthy of being Enos’ successor. 

“Step into the circle, Justin, without disturbing any of the symbols.” Again the boy complied. Reaching out Morthos touched the other-worldly material of Justin’s garment. It was like nothing he had ever felt before and he wondered if his knife could penetrate it. 

“Take off the rest of your armor,” he ordered. In the blink of an eye the entire suit vanished, replaced by clothing equally strange in appearance, but far more normal in texture. 

How had the boy done that? Clearly he was greater than the simple-minded fool he appeared to be, which made disposing of him all the more imperative. 

“Lie down inside the circle,” he ordered. As Justin did so Morthos knelt down just beyond the edge of the pentacle, in line with Justin’s head. Reading from his book he began the chant. For almost half an hour he invoked his Lord’s name, begging for the strength to serve Him. As his spell reached its apex he positioned his kris dagger over Justin’s heart. With both hands he raised the sacrificial implement above his head before brining it down with all the force he could muster. 

The tip of the blade never even reached Justin’s garment. The boy brought both of his hands up and caught Morthos’ wrists as the latter was making the killing thrust. From the wide-eyed, wide-awake look on Justin’s face it was clear that he was no longer ensorcelled. He had broken the trance! 

Morthos strained desperately to finish the sacrifice, trying futilely to overpower Justin. He began mouthing words of the sickness spell but before he could finish Justin yanked on his wrists, tossing him to the right. Hitting the sand knocked the wind out of him and his left hand came off the knife. Almost instantly Justin was on top of him, one hand pinning his dagger down and the other hammering at his head. His nose broke at the first blow and that was only the beginning. Once again he was helpless. He couldn’t escape, couldn’t fight back, he couldn’t even speak! He could only lie there until the darkness rose up and embraced him. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Even after Morthos passed out Justin kept hitting the boy. He couldn’t stop himself. Fear and anger and revulsion were all roiling around together inside him, and the only way to deal with it seemed to be to crush Morthos, just as he would a particularly loathsome insect. 

Blood flowed freely from the child’s nose and mouth, staining the teenager’s pistoning, white-gloved fist. As he drew back for yet another punch a few drops of blood flew off his hand and onto his face. He wiped at it impatiently, and only succeeded in smearing more blood on himself. That was when he really looked at his hand. Then he looked down at the person he’d been hitting.

He threw himself off the body as though it were red-hot. Running to the edge of the oasis he washed his hands frantically, vigorously scrubbing away every trace of the red liquid. Next he began splashing water on his face. Some of it went up his nose and made him cough, but he continued until the blood was gone from his face as well as his hands.

Sitting back on his haunches the fourteen year-old started to tremble. Almost dying was bad, but he could handle that. This wasn’t the first or even the twelfth time he’d almost died. Being a Ranger was dangerous; he knew and accepted that fact, because the job was worth the risk. 

Having his mind violated was harder to shake off. He’d been the victim of mental influence before, but not to the point of cooperating with his own murder. The dirty feeling of having his will overwhelmed clung to him more tenaciously than the blood.

The worst part, though, was what he’d done himself. After all his talk about subduing the aggressive kids and making them see that Archon was their real enemy, he’d come within a hairsbreadth of beating one of those kids to death. 

That wasn’t him! He didn’t go into frenzies like this. Since infancy he had learned about self-control and self-discipline through Dad’s martial arts instruction. Becoming a Ranger had only reinforced those teachings, especially since one of the cardinal rules of the Power Ranger Code was to never escalate a battle. 

The closest he’d come to striking anyone in anger before this had been in his freshman year, when Reggie and Junior had been picking on him. The two just wouldn’t leave him alone and when they had gone after him in the park he had come very close to punching Reggie out. It was only the older boy’s genuine look of fear which had humanized and saved him. 

Things had actually ended up working out after that. When he had responded to Reggie’s taunt about his mother by revealing that she was dead Reggie had confided the same thing. They’d even bonded a little over their losses. Reggie had gotten Junior to leave him alone and he’d never had a problem with either of them again. Later Tommy had told him what Jason had once said about how making a friend out of an enemy was the highest form of martial arts.

That was the feat he had to repeat here, but so far he had failed in every attempt. His team-up with Jo, Josh, Solan and Kenny didn’t really count as a success; they had never been his enemies in the first place. The kids who were, the ones he needed to reach, he couldn’t get through to. None of them would listen. 

And why should they? After what he had just done, why should they believe a word he said? How could he persuade them to stop trying to kill each other if he couldn’t even follow his own advice? Right now Morthos looked to be in worse shape than a lot of the victims of Divatox’s attacks. The boy could have died from the beating Justin had dished out if it had gone on much longer. He could have died. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Colin had to walk around the periphery for quite a long time before he came across anything of interest. The line of footprints in the sand let him know he’d found the starting point of another contestant. He sniffed at the scent that had been left behind. It was the red-headed boy who had appeared here. 

Following the red-head’s trail brought him to the corpse of the werewolf, a female werewolf. Finding her dead was a relief; she could have torn him apart if he’d encountered her while she was alive. How had the boy managed to take her out? What powers did he have? 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Maybe being alone hadn’t been so bad after all. As company Kenny left a lot to be desired. Try as he might, Josh couldn’t draw the other boy into a conversation. Kenny spoke only in response to direct questions and even then his answers were brusque and to the point. This went on for a while before Kenny stopped and turned to Josh, his expression irritated and angry. 

“I don’t want to talk, okay?” he snapped. 

“Okay!” Josh conceded. “We’ll just walk together through the desert in total silence,” he added sarcastically. 

In return he received not a smile, not a grin, not even a crack in the glare. Kenny merely turned around and kept walking. 

What was his problem? Well, aside from the fact that he’d almost died, had been taken off to who knows where and was in the second day of a fighting contest which only one of those involved in was supposed to survive, not to mention that he had been walking for hours now in a desert without water. But hey, they were all dealing with that! Kenny didn’t have to be such a jerk about it. 

Maybe he was upset because of how vulnerable he was. Boxing wouldn’t be much good against that werewolf, for example. Of course his Time Warrior powers should let him handle the first real threat they came across. After that . . . well, they would see. 

“Hold up, I gotta rest,” Josh said. He flopped down, breathing hard. Kenny sat down as well, his expression stony. Josh’s passion for biking had really come in handy here; you needed strong legs for all of this walking. Still, walking through sand took a lot more effort than riding his Schwinn, and the lack of hydration was starting to get to him. This was probably his third rest stop in the last hour. Where was the water Archon had mentioned? He didn’t know how much longer he would be able to hold out without it. 

Fortunately he didn’t have to put himself to the test. Right after they’d started again he saw the greenery, standing out like a zebra against the golden landscape. And beyond the greenery . . . 

“Water!” Josh shouted. He and Kenny both broken into a run, dashing for all they were worth toward that cool, clear pool. Josh was definitely pulling ahead when he saw the girl on the far side of the pool. 

There were tear tracks clearly visible on her face and her leg, well, just the sight of it made him want to cry too. Her pain was obvious through her tight-lipped grimace and Josh’s first instinct was to try to help her in some way, maybe find something that he could use as a splint for that leg. That natural, charitable impulse died an abrupt death when she rose into the air and floated across the water toward them. It didn’t look like she wanted help; it looked like she wanted blood. 

He had put on the brakes the instant he saw her and Kenny had gone a few feet further before halting. They were about six yards short of the water’s edge. He stepped up right behind his teammate. 

“We don’t want any trouble. We just want a drink,” Josh offered. She didn’t seem impressed with that, and Kenny shot him a glance which was the equivalent of an eighteen volume set of books about contempt. Well, what did he expect Josh to say? They were here to try to make peace with the other kids, not to start something. Besides, this girl had stayed for Justin’s whole pitch. She had seemed at least somewhat open to the idea of working together. Maybe they could swing her over to their side. 

Now hovering over the center of the oasis, the dark-haired girl turned and looked back to the shore she’d come from. A long object lifted itself up into the air and shot over the water, flying straight at Josh and Kenny. Josh’s first absurd thought was that this trident would make an excellent splint. His second thought was, “Down!”   
He threw himself to the sand and Kenny did likewise. The trident responded by changing its course, dipping downward and driving its tines straight through Kenny’s backpack and into his back. The blond boy screamed horribly, pinned to the desert floor by the weapon. It made Josh think of the entomology samples Mr. Rickman had shown him, insects pinned by needles to cardboard. They had always grossed him out and now he felt the gorge rise in his own throat at the sight of something a thousand times worse. 

The trident jerked out of Kenny’s back and oriented itself toward Josh. Frantically he called on his Time Warrior powers, focusing not on the trident, but on the girl. He concentrated on freezing her in time, just as he had done to the bank robbers. The trident leapt forward, and fell at his feet. 

The girl made no movement, nor would she for the next eight hours. She was isolated from the flow of time. She could do nothing, nor could anything be done to her. Otherwise Josh might well have tried to tag her with that fucking trident. 

Instead he went over to Kenny. The boy was dead, his crystal-blue eyes staring straight ahead at nothing. Josh gently closed them, feeling almost as bad as he could remember. If only he’d acted quicker, frozen her before she could get that trident moving . . . he could have prevented this. He could have stopped her! Kenny didn’t have to die here today, and it was Josh’s fault that he had. 

He stayed there for a few minutes, praying for Kenny, before he went to get water from the oasis. After he had drunk his fill he noticed another body on the far side of the pool. Running over to it he found it was the red-headed teen, sporting a now familiar wound in his chest. The corpse was cold and stiff; he had clearly been dead a while.

Wearily Josh started to walk back toward his side of the oasis, trident in hand, wondering grimly if there really was any hope at all of getting out of this, of saving himself or anyone else. 

Then he stopped dead. Bringing both of his fists up Josh rubbed his eyes and looked again. He couldn’t be seeing this. It wasn’t possible; he had to be hallucinating. This was exactly the kind of place where people hallucinated, right? In the burning desert, when you were weak from thirst? Except he wasn’t weak from thirst anymore; he’d just had a gutful of water, yet Kenny’s dead body was moving. 

He sprinted toward the no longer still form, running as fast as he ever had in his life. Kenny had sat back up and was looking around. He saw Josh running toward him and their eyes met.

And just like that Josh went back in time. Not literally; his powers were gone for the next twelve hours, and he couldn’t travel through time here anyway. But mentally he found himself once again reliving Irwin 1138’s betrayal. The stunned disbelief, the chagrin and humiliation at having been taken in and manipulated, the hurt at having been considered nothing more than a useful puppet by someone he had thought was an ally, and the anger at having been mistreated so.

Maybe Justin, Jo and Solan had never experienced a betrayal like that. Hopefully they hadn’t; it was a painful thing to go through, something he wouldn’t have wished even on his enemies, much less on his friends. If they had been spared such an ordeal then their being fooled was understandable, but he of all people should have known better! He should have seen the warning signs. The way Kenny didn’t appear shocked by his new teammates’ powers or lives. How he felt comfortable enough to leave and go to his room hours before Josh and the others. The complete absence of fear he had displayed when Josh had found him. Finally there was this miraculous resurrection of his and his reaction to it. In his face there was no hint of disbelief or confusion, just cool calculation. His sudden return to life apparently hadn’t surprised Kenny at all! Josh still didn’t know who or what Kenny really was, but one thing he was sure of: Kenny had been lying to them. The boy was no more an “ordinary kid” than Josh was. 

Kenny wasted no time on talking and explanations. He shrugged off his backpack and brought it around to his lap. He started pulling out what looked like an actual sword, but he wasn’t fast enough. Arriving on the run Josh reversed the trident and used it as a bat, slamming the metal shaft into Kenny’s skull. The boy collapsed again, unconscious this time. For how long, Josh had no idea. Kneeling down he pushed up Kenny’s shirt. The boy’s chest was stained with blood, but was otherwise smooth and unmarred. He rolled Kenny over and checked his back. Same thing. There was blood, but no wound.

Taking custody of the short sword as well Josh rose to his feet and stared down at the other boy, thinking. Apparently Kenny had some kind of hyper-regeneration, powerful enough to allow him to heal even fatal wounds. In that case he’d probably be waking up a lot sooner than Josh would have preferred. And what to do with him when he did wake up? Josh was considerably taller and heavier than Kenny, and he had both weapons; he supposed he could keep knocking the kid out if he had to. Not exactly the most brilliant plan he’d ever come up with, true, but you worked with what you had. 

Josh sat down to watch and wait, wishing that one of his trustworthy teammates was with him. Where the heck was everyone else? Getting up he ventured out beyond the dunes he and Kenny had passed through. There was no sign of anyone coming behind them.

Josh jogged to the far end of the oasis, literally following in the footsteps of the red-headed boy. The path curved around a dune and as he followed it he ploughed right into someone. He knocked whoever it was down and fell on top of him or her. 

It was the little dark-haired kid. He glared up at Josh and then his face shifted. Ridges appeared on his brow and his eyes changed to yellow. Josh gaped at him and with a snarl the boy struck, burying his face in the teenager’s neck. Twin piercing pains shot through Josh and his scream trailed off into a gurgle. Holy hell, it was a freaking vampire! 

Releasing his weapons he grabbed hold of the creature’s head, trying to force it away from him, but the boy hung on like a pit-bull. Shifting his hands lower he could feel the vampire’s throat moving as he sucked hungrily at Josh’s jugular. He was losing blood fast. He needed to get this thing off him! He fumbled for the hilt of the sword (he was in too close to use the long trident effectively), but as he took hold of it the creature’s left hand seized his arm, keeping it out and away from both of them. He couldn’t seem to break its grip; his strength was fading fast. He attempted to stand up, thinking to slam the bloodsucker beneath him, and failed. He collapsed back on top of the monster. His vision was starting to blur now and his hands weren’t working right anymore. Time was running out fast, but he could still get out of this; he just needed a second to think how to do it. Then . . . then . . . he . . . 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Water, at last! This cursed place was as hot as one of the Hells. Archon had probably sent them here as a test of endurance in addition to the greater test of trial by combat.

The presence of water would be a test of prudence. The natural instinct would be to immediately rush to such a pool and quench one’s thirst. But a prudent man did not act in haste. Letting his eyes carefully roam the area he spotted the boy sitting on the dune to his left. He could hardly miss such a bright blue, standing out like a sparkling sapphire gemstone against the gold of the sand.

From his position the boy could observe everything. Did he also have a ranged weapon to use? Shin-Ren tensed, approaching the dune cautiously, but the only weapon he saw was a sword clutched in the boy’s right hand. The strangely garbed child was descending the sand dune now, heading toward the young ninja.

“I don’t want to fight you! We don’t have to kill each other!” the kid insisted, his voice hoarse with emotion. Shin-Ren let his enemy get within ten feet of him. Then, with an underhanded throw, he sent a shuriken spinning toward his foe’s throat.

His aim was off by just a fraction and his throwing star struck the base of the helmet, skipping off and flying into the sand. He whipped the next one at the boy’s chest. Now the child was moving, dodging aside, but not quickly enough; the shuriken struck high near the left shoulder and stuck there. His strangled scream brought a tight smile to Shin-Ren’s face. The third shuriken was actually deflected by a wild swing of the boy’s straight-bladed sword. The fourth struck him in the midsection and immediately fell out. It had probably hit a rib. 

Unsheathing his ninja-do Shin-Ren charged his opponent and the battle truly began. It ranged all over the area, from one line of dunes to the other. The blue boy’s skill with weapons and the martial arts soon became clear. He was a difficult opponent, one who had not been weakened by hours of unrelieved thirst. Shin-Ren, however, was unwounded; his foe could not say the same. Before they had crossed swords the boy had managed to reach up with his left hand and pluck out the shuriken, hurling it down into the sand with a pained cry. A bright ribbon of crimson still trailed down from that hole, and from the wound in his torso. 

While his enemy’s defense was strong, the offensive moves were less so. The boy seemed to eschew strikes toward the chest or head, focusing instead on peripheral areas such as arms and legs, along with several unsuccessful attempts to disarm him. This fool really was trying to subdue him without hurting him, in accordance with the madness he had previously given voice to. 

Shin-Ren couldn’t help but marvel at the delusion that the god who had placed them here could be successfully defied. His own strikes gained in confidence and power as he exploited his foe’s weakness. The blue boy gave ground before him and Shin Ren’s soul sang in exultation. Striking low and then swinging up toward the neck he almost sliced his enemy’s head off. Only a last-minute block caused the ninja-do to strike the side of the helmet instead. Sadly the helmet was proof against his blade, but the blow did cause his enemy to stagger back. 

He followed up quickly, pressing his advantage. He could almost taste his foe’s desperation. Victory was within his grasp! 

Then the blue boy unexpectedly lunged forward and to the right, striking at Shin-Ren’s side as he went. He blocked and whirled to face his adversary, who lunged at him with astonishing ferocity. The blue boy’s blade was now aimed at his head and heart, and Shin-Ren fell back before the unexpected assault. It was all he could do to parry the frantic, powerful blows as he retreated. He could have killed his enemy, but not without taking a fatal hit in return. No matter; the boy’s fury was already spending itself. In seconds he would be able to separate the child’s head from-

Without warning pure agony lanced up from his right foot. He instinctively jerked his right leg back up, screaming, his arms wind-milling as he tumbled forward, almost impaling himself on the blue boy’s sword. He was shoved to the sand and just before his enemy knocked him unconscious he realized what had happened. He had been maneuvered back to where the blue boy had once stood. He had accidentally stepped on one of his own shurikens, which was sticking up out of the sand.

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

He had kept running until he collapsed, completely exhausted. For a long time he had simply lain there. When he could move again he had continued forward, walking slowly and painfully. He saw no one. Behind him were only his own tracks. 

For the first couple of hours after leaving the oasis he had listened intently, hoping at any moment to hear Jo’s shout of “Beetleborg!” It never came. 

Jo wasn’t going to rejoin him. Not now, not ever. She was dead. And she had died because he was too weak to help her. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Returning to life after being killed was often a disorienting and uncomfortable experience. This time was no exception. Kenny’s first sensation was of something pressing in on him, completely covering him. Even after he opened his eyes the darkness around him was total. And he couldn’t breath!   
He thrashed around, rearing up from the extremely shallow grave he’d been buried in. Gasping for air he saw that he was at the base of one of the dunes surrounding the oasis. Apparently he’d been dragged there and covered with sand. Rooting around in the sand he found that his backpack had been buried with him, but his sword was gone. 

That bastard Josh was going to die! Not only had the idiot teenager killed him, but Josh had stolen his sword, the blade he had carried for the last two hundred and thirty-two years! It had been specially made for him, scaled down to fit his size and strength. The weapon was a gift from one of his guardians, Frederico Martinez, so that he would be able to protect himself as best he could if need be. And he had used the sword for exactly that; when he had beheaded Frederico he had protected himself from the Spaniard ever turning against him. 

He had slain over forty Immortals with that blade. He couldn’t afford to be without it, especially now! His Immortality would be useless if he lacked the means to kill his enemies. 

Anxiously his eyes searched the oasis. That telekinetic girl was hovering over the water, but she wasn’t moving. He deliberately walked forward and she didn’t turn toward him. She’d probably been frozen by Josh. Frozen and rendered harmless, after Kenny had already been killed! So Josh had betrayed him first. How could he not have seen that coming? He should have kept a closer eye on the boy! He was lucky to still have his head, though if Josh came at him with his sword, he’d probably lose that as well. But where was Josh? 

For that matter, where were the footprints and drag marks leading to his “grave”? The sand around him was smooth and unmarred. Even their footprints leading into the area seemed to have been brushed out. Why would Josh do that? 

Wait, there! On the edge of the sandy area before the greenery began, on this side of the oasis. There was something lying on the ground: Josh’s shirt! 

Curiously he approached the discarded garment. It was rolled into a cylinder and covered in sand; clearly it was had been used to brush away the marks of his and Josh’s passage. As he leaned over to pick it up he felt rather than saw movement from behind. He whirled around as a figure surged up from its own resting place beneath the sand. It was the short, dark-haired kid-and he had Kenny’s sword! 

The boy’s face had changed into a nightmare and that, along with the shock of his appearance, paralyzed Kenny. He’d always feared that an adult Immortal would confront and kill him. How ironic that he was instead going to die from an ambush by an apparent kid, like him. 

Yet the child creature did not strike. Instead it started at the sight of Kenny’s face, as though he had been the one to suddenly jump out at it. His hesitation gave Kenny a couple seconds to think. The creature had his sword, his sole means of defending himself. He couldn’t give up that weapon and have any hope of survival. He needed to get it back, and he had to do it now! 

Grabbing the thing’s right arm, Kenny bit into its wrist as deeply as he could. It howled and dropped his sword to the sand. Kenny then used his grip on the monster’s arm and a month’s worth of judo lessons from 1988 to toss it over his shoulder. Whirling back around Kenny snatched up his sword as the thing scrambled to its feet. It backed off a bit, hissing in rage and revealing its fangs in the process.

A vampire! Maybe it shouldn’t have come as such a shock, after hearing Josh talk about the werewolf creature, but it did. 

When he first became an Immortal he’d still harbored fears of the dark and the creatures which lurked there. His mentor, Amanda, had helped him overcome that. She’d told him that vampires and ghosts and werewolves didn’t exist, had never existed. The only thing there was to fear in the dark were fellow Immortals. 

She’d been wrong. He was facing a vampire, and in broad daylight! All of the stories agreed that sunlight would kill a vampire! Yet here the creature was. What else that he thought he knew about vampires was false? 

Even worse than his ignorance about his enemy was the fact that this monster probably already knew too much about him. Why had it hesitated upon seeing him, unless it had been the one to bury his body? The vampire did have his sword, after all. Maybe it had killed Josh and taken it. If the vampire did know that he had returned to life, he couldn’t risk letting it kill him again. The chance of being decapitated was simply too great. 

Kenny edged back away from the vampire. The bloodsucker watched him suspiciously, but did not advance. When Kenny reached the outlying edge of the oasis, he turned and ran.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

How long had he lain senseless in the sand? If anyone had found him, he could have been killed in his sleep. IN HIS SLEEP! That was no way for a Klingon warrior to die!

Justin had defeated him. The boy who wouldn’t kill had somehow contrived to best him in battle . . . and then had just left him there. 

Since he awoke he’d been doggedly following the boy’s footprints, stoically ignoring his own hunger and thirst. Now up ahead he saw greenery. Grass, and trees, and water! 

Alexander moved in cautiously, his bat’leth held at the ready. There was another set of footprints coming in from the left up ahead. That trail intersected with Justin’s right before the grass began. He couldn’t see any sign of whoever the other person was, but he saw Justin sitting at the edge of the circular pool. The human quickly got to his feet, taking up his sword from the ground. Alexander strode forward and as he neared the other boy he saw that Justin was wounded. Dried blood trailed down from near his shoulder and his torso. Whatever other contestant he’d faced had hurt him, but apparently the human had still managed to win. 

“You can’t want to fight again!” he protested, disbelief in his voice. 

“You left me helpless!” Alexander snarled in reply, his hands tightening around his bat’leth. 

“Because I didn’t want to kill you! There was nothing else I could do!”

“You should have killed me! A warrior slays his enemies!” 

“Why do we have to be enemies? Just because Archon says so?”

“Do you shrink from killing solely to defy him?” Alexander asked in genuine curiosity. That was a novel idea and one at least worthy of respect if not emulation. 

“No, not just to defy him!” Justin said. The boy paused, frustrated. Then he asked, “Don’t you want to defy him? Are you happy being his slave?” 

Growling Alexander hefted his weapon and moved forward. 

“It’s true! He kidnapped you and you’re doing exactly what he wants! How is that different from being his slave?”

Now it was Alexander’s turn to pause. He couldn’t fully deny the human’s words. By participating without protest he was submitting to their captor. To so meekly acquiesce was not the Klingon way. At the same time refusing to kill attackers, as Justin was doing, was even more alien to his people. What was the honorable course here? What should he do? 

“I won’t spare those who attack me,” he announced firmly to Justin. That was beyond question. 

“What about those who don’t? The ones who are defying Archon? If you don’t fight them you’ll be defying him too!” 

Sparing those who didn’t want to fight . . . he could do that. Those who had joined with Justin were few in number. Their actions in refusing to eliminate their enemies would seal their doom regardless of what he did. By refusing to kill them himself, though, he would indeed be offering defiance to their captor. And despite his strange ideas, Justin had proven to be a warrior worthy of his respect. 

“I will not kill any who refuse to fight me, not while other aggressors live. This I swear,” Alexander promised.

The point of Justin’s sword touched the ground and he sighed heavily. 

“Thank you. Thank you!” 

Alexander shook his head in bemusement as he lowered his own bat’leth. 

“You are strange, human. What world do you come from, that warriors think as you?” 

“I’m from Earth.” 

“Earth? You are from the Federation?” That seemed unlikely. The Federation uniforms were nothing like this boy’s garb. 

“No, I’m not from any Federation; I’m not even from your universe. Archon has brought us all here from different realities. In mine it’s the late 20th century and our world has been under attack from interplanetary criminals for years. I’m a Power Ranger, one of the defenders of my world.” 

“Different realities? Are you certain?” 

He’d assumed that Archon had snatched them from different worlds within the galaxy. If he had actually been able to reach other realities, then his power was much greater than Alexander had thought. 

“I’m sure. My friends and I talked a lot about what our worlds are like last night. You could join us tonight,” he offered hopefully. 

Alexander snorted. “I said I would spare you and your allies, for now. That does not mean I will associate with you.” 

“Even if it might help us figure out a way to defeat Archon? Pooling what we know is our best shot at that.”

Why did it seem that this human was outmaneuvering him at every turn? 

“Fine,” he grunted. Brushing past Justin he knelt down at the oasis and drank. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

This gave him hope. It wasn’t the success he’d wanted, but it was a success! He COULD have an impact! He could turn some of the other contestants away from Archon’s bloodshed! 

He tried to talk more with his new companion, whose name he soon found to be Alexander, but the alien wasn’t especially communicative. He got up to walk the length of the oasis and Justin followed behind nervously. Alexander could hardly miss the bound forms of Morthos and the ninja. After he’d knocked them out he had cut strips of cloth from their garments and tied them both to slender trees. He’d also bound up the ninja’s wounded foot as best he could. A few feet away the sword, shurikens and a garrote lay in a pile next to Morthos’ book. 

Morthos he’d had to gag; the boy was some kind of wizard and he couldn’t risk allowing the child to speak. The ninja’s mouth he had left free. Unfortunately, all the ninja had done was to curse him for being a foreign devil. Beyond that the boy had refused to say a word. 

When Alexander saw them his eyes lit up and he started toward them with his bat’leth. Justin quickly interposed himself between his captives and his new comrades. 

“What are you doing?” 

“They attacked you, did they not? They are not your allies,” Alexander argued. 

“So you’re going to kill them?” 

“How did you ever manage to protect your planet with such a cowardly attitude toward death? Do you spare all those who attack you?” 

“No, I’ve killed plenty of Piranhatrons, but that’s different! They were choosing to attack us; these are kids kidnapped by Archon!” 

“And have they not made their choice as well? The opposite of the choice you made?” 

Justin had no ready answer to that. 

Alexander moved to go around him and the teen again got in his way. 

“Would you fight me to keep me from them?” the alien queried with a gleam in his eye. 

The trap was clear; fortunately it was also easily avoidable.

“No, I refuse to fight you. You said you wouldn’t kill anyone who refuses to fight you, right?”

“Yes.” 

“Well, they refuse to fight you too! They’re not going to attack you, not now. So you’ll spare them, right?”

For a second it looked as though Alexander would go for him in spite of their agreement. Instead the boy wheeled about without a word and stomped off. The last forty-some minutes until 5:00 P.M. passed in a tense, uncomfortable silence. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ


	5. The Second Night

One instant Madeline was confronting the two blond boys who had come to her oasis; the next she was floating in the cafeteria. Was the day over already? No, that was impossible; there had been hours to go yet! So why was she here?

Looking around only increased her confusion. The smaller blond boy, the one she was sure she had killed with the trident, was standing next to the same table she was! But there was no sign of the taller blond anywhere. 

The Asian boy was the third person at their table and he was already sitting down in one of the chairs. He had brought his right foot up to his lap and was unwinding a strip of black cloth from around it. 

Theirs was the table nearest the food dispenser, while the other two were closer to the door. All of the tables now had only three chairs. 

The table on her left as she looked toward the door had that ugly kid with the pock-marked face, but he looked a lot worse now. His cheeks were bruised, both of his eyes were blackened, and his nose was broken and bloody. On top of that he was practically naked, wearing only a belt and black briefs. The muscular blond boy with the short hair was there as well, and so was the brown-skinned thing with the ridged forehead, who had likewise discarded most of his clothing. 

The last table had the little black-haired boy, Solan, and Justin. The former seemed fine; the latter two did not. Solan was practically prostrate across the table and his expression was one of purest misery. Then he looked toward the other table and the unhappy exhaustion fell away from his face. He stared hatefully at the muscle-bound boy.

Justin wasn’t staring at anyone, but was instead sweeping his gaze from one end of the room to the other. His mouth fell open and his skin paled before her eyes. He was trembling as he sank down into his chair. 

The large blond went over to the food dispenser first, ordering a rare steak and something called “Coca-Cola”. Then Solan bolted up from his own chair and placed himself in the bigger boy’s return path. 

“What did you do to Jo?” he rasped angrily. 

“I killed her. Just like I’d have killed you, if you hadn’t run away.”

Solan’s answer was a punch directly to the jaw, a blow which barely moved the teen’s face. There was no white flash, no concussive blast. The crew-cut kid locked eyes with Solan before speaking. 

“That’s it? That’s the best you can do?” he asked contemptuously. Then, instead of striking back, he began to laugh. 

His face going red Solan tried to shove his foe over with both hands, and failed. The other boy set his plate and glass down on the table behind him before turning back to Solan.

Justin had jumped up when Solan first struck, but hesitated when there was no corresponding punishment. Now he sprinted toward the two even as the taller blond sent a fist rocketing into Solan’s face. 

Now there was a white flash, occurring right before impact would have, and knocking the attacker to the floor. 

“You let him hit me!” the boy shouted furiously at the ceiling as he regaining his footing. 

“YOU WERE IN NO DANGER OF BEING HARMED,” Archon replied placidly. 

The angry teen’s attention then shifted back to Solan. 

“The next time we meet in the Battlefield you won’t get away,” he swore.

Solan said nothing. He merely stood trembling, his fists clenched before him. Reaching out Justin took him by the left arm. 

“Come on,” he urged and gently led Solan back to their table. With the drama apparently over most of the rest of the room’s inhabitants were now making their way to the food dispenser. Madeline waited until her path was clear before floating over to it and selecting her own dinner. Taking up the plate and utensils with her telekinesis she slowly descended into her chair, hissing in pain as she let her shattered leg down. 

It just wasn’t FAIR! It would have been one thing if another kid had broken her leg, but this injury was solely Archon’s fault. He was the one who had set up the invisible barrier in the sky, who had let her fly into it without warning. His stupidity and thoughtlessness had crippled her! 

What a joy it would be to kill him, like she had her father! With Archon, though, she wouldn’t make it so quick. First she’d see how HE liked having a ruined leg. Then she’d break as many of his bones as she could before he finally died. 

Madeline finished her meal quickly and without really tasting it, her mind focused primarily on her vengeful fantasy. When she was done she floated out into the hall and into her room, easing herself down onto the bed. Again a new surge of pain flared along her aching leg. 

Madeline bit her lip, holding back tears. Once more she went through the line of reasoning she had come up with at the oasis, as though hoping to find a flaw in it. Archon needed to die for what he had done to her. Killing Archon was impossible as long as he remained hidden; her telekinesis required touch or line of sight. And there was no reason to believe Archon would ever come out of hiding, except maybe to congratulate the tournament’s winner. So as much as she wished otherwise, she really had no choice. She had to kill the other kids. It was the only possible way for her to punish Archon and get out of here alive. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Kenny wasted little time in getting to the food dispenser. As usual coming back to life had left him ravenously hungry, though not so much that he ignored what was happening around him. While carrying his pork chops, apple sauce and coke back to the table he made sure to keep an eye and ear on Solan and the bigger boy. It sounded like the latter had finished off Jo, just as the vampire had apparently killed Josh. 

It had been a relief to see that Josh wasn’t among today’s survivors, though he had pleasurably anticipated that fact. Josh could have killed him and then buried his body in the sand out of misguided sentimentality, but there was no reason for the teenage Time Warrior to wipe away all the footprints around the oasis, or to leave his shirt lying near where the vampire was hidden. For the vampire, on the other hand, concealing both his and Josh’s corpses would be a way to keep from alerting anyone else who stumbled upon the oasis. Wiping away all the nearby footprints was suspicious, given the various trails leading into the area, but it was necessary to keep the nosferatu’s hiding place a secret. Leaving the shirt used to smooth out the sand right by his impromptu lair was an excellent touch, since it would attract potential victims to that spot. Assuming vampires really didn’t need to breathe then the blood-sucker could remain underneath the sand for the rest of the day. If he did feel the vibrations of someone approaching he could rise up and pounce, using Kenny’s sword as his weapon.

Overall it was quite a clever little trap and Kenny couldn’t suppress a twinge of genuine admiration. Whatever the vampire’s physical abilities (and he was beginning to suspect that those were less than he had feared; otherwise why would the thing have needed his sword in the first place?), the creature was obviously quite cunning.

How many years had the vampire had to develop that cunning? Decades? Centuries, even? Every story said that, like Immortals, vampires did not age. If that was true, then for however long the vampire had existed, he had done so in that small child’s body. 

Just like Kenny. 

The eight hundred and twenty year-old shifted his attention back to his meal. His pork chops were as tender and delicious as any he’d ever tasted. If there was one good thing about this place, it was the food. 

After he finished Kenny glanced over at his remaining “teammates”. Justin and Solan were both picking halfheartedly at their dinners and from their expressions you would have thought that they were about to die, instead of being safe and sound after surviving a second day of this lethal contest.

Kenny had to fight hard to keep a sneer from his face. Had those two fools really thought that all of the members of their group would survive? Especially after handicapping themselves with that suicidal decision not to kill? Justin and Solan should be grateful to be alive themselves, not mourning the dead! 

If anything, the pair should be glad about the deaths. Every contestant who perished today was one less opponent tomorrow, one fewer obstacle between the remaining kids and freedom. It was amazing how that simple fact seemingly still hadn’t occurred to either of them. At this rate they were going to die before they faced reality, an outcome which suited him perfectly; it meant two fewer enemies to worry about. In the meantime they might again be of use, as they had last evening with the information they had provided. 

So he waited for the remaining diners to leave, gleaning what he could from watching them. The junior ninja departed limping, not putting any more weight than necessary on his bandaged foot. The floating girl’s leg was still hideously broken, but unfortunately the injury didn’t seem to affect her telekinesis in the slightest. The ugly kid had clearly gotten the crap beaten out of him and that might or might not impair him, depending on his special talents. The big blond glared at Solan while he walked out and the little vampire gave nothing away visually. 

The last one left was the alien, who again ate facing away from the table, with his plate in his lap. Whatever meaning there might be in that act eluded him. Standing up the alien took hold of his chair and dragged it across the floor to Justin and Solan’s table. 

The latter started in surprise; Justin did not. With his right hand he motioned Kenny over. Picking up his backpack Kenny took the chair vacated by the vampire. 

“This is Alexander,” Justin said, handling the introductions. “Alexander, this is Solan and Kenny.”

The Grecian boy extended an arm and Alexander seized him by the hand, pumping the arm up and down violently. Solan flinched in pain and the alien’s already unfriendly expression darkened further. When he turned to Kenny the Immortal was ready. He bore Alexander’s crushing grip without reaction, not even massaging his aching hand afterward. He was rewarded with a brief nod from the alien. A sign of approval? 

“What can you do?” he asked bluntly, cutting a surprised Justin off just as the latter started to speak. 

“I am a Klingon warrior. My people are the greatest fighters in the galaxy!” 

“How do you fight? What weapons do you use?”

“We use bat’leth and d’k tahg. What do you use to fight, human?”

“I fight with my fists,” Kenny lied, and the Klingon snorted, clearly unimpressed. Good, exactly the impression he wanted to give the alien. He was about to ask for a description of the two oddly-named weapons, but Justin jumped in before he could.   
“Alexander is here because he’s agreed to a truce with us. As long as we don’t attack him, he won’t attack us.”

“Not while there are other competitors alive,” the Klingon amended, and Justin’s already gloomy expression drooped a little further.

“Right,” he agreed, taking a deep breath. “Alexander’s also agreed to help us against Archon if we can find a way to confront him.”

A brief silence fell over the table before Justin broke it. 

“We have to talk about what happened to us today,” he asserted, though his tone of voice suggested that was the last thing he wanted to do. “Who wants to go first?”

Justin’s gaze slid over to Solan, but the Grecian was staring down at the table; clearly he had no intention of speaking first. Then Justin looked at him and Kenny quickly shook his head. He couldn’t tell them the whole truth and he hadn’t yet worked out exactly what he would say. He needed at least a little more time to think.

“Alexander, did you meet anyone today beside me?” Justin asked the alien. 

“No,” the brown-skinned boy replied shortly. 

After a last glance around the group Justin began. He spoke only briefly of his meeting with Alexander, during which the Klingon noticeably glowered. Then he mentioned finding a pool of water. 

Wait, when had Justin reached the oasis? Had he met Colin? Had he talked with the vampire at all or seen Josh’s body? 

Enmeshed in his own anxious questions he missed seeing Solan’s head come up until the latter spoke. 

“When did you get there? Did you-did you see Jo? Did you fight him?” the preteen demanded. 

“I found it after a few hours, and I didn’t see Jo all day; you’re saying she was there?” 

“We were both there! We found it before noon. Then that blond boy found us, and . . . ,” Solan didn’t finish the thought, his vehement voice abruptly trailing off.

“When I got there no one else was around,” Justin claimed. “And there were no footprints leading to the pool except for mine! You and Jo took a drink from your oasis, right?” 

“Yes, we did,” Solan agreed. 

“When Archon said we could find water I thought he meant there was only one source, but there must have been at least two, maybe more. Kenny! Did you reach an oasis today?”

It was a question he should have anticipated and been ready for, but he hadn’t. And so he did something he hadn’t done for over three hundred years: he froze. 

Each nanosecond which passed felt like an hour as his mind raced frantically through his choices. The simplest one was just to say no, but that might well make them suspicious, especially since he didn’t look like someone who had gone all day in the desert without water. 

If he said yes and admitted that Josh had been with him, he opened himself up to too many questions about why he had survived and Josh hadn’t. It didn’t sound like either one of them had visited his oasis, the one with the floating girl and the vampire. It’d be best to admit he’d found an oasis and claim that no one else had been there.

“Yeah, I found an oasis,” he answered, painfully aware that Justin’s query had been posed at least three seconds ago. “No one else was around, so I stayed there for the rest of the day.” 

Fortunately no one appeared to have taken too much note of his delay in replying. Justin’s eyes were lit up with excitement at having figured out something new, while the animation was gone from Solan and had never been present in Alexander in the first place. 

Then the animation faded from Justin as well as he began to tell them about the first person he had met at the oasis. 

“The dark-haired kid with the pock-marked face showed up about an hour and a half later. I told him I didn’t want to fight him, and that we needed to work together to survive this. He told me his name was Morthos and I offered to step away to let him drink from the oasis. Afterwards he started telling me about how he wanted to save everyone too, and there was something about his voice . . . it put me in a trance, like being hypnotized. I had to believe everything he was telling me.” 

Justin stopped and looked at Solan and Alexander.

“Do you either of you know what hypnosis is?” 

Solan shook his head listlessly, and Alexander grunted negatively.

“It’s-basically it’s a special way of talking to someone that puts them into a deep sleep. They can still hear you and they’ll follow whatever orders you give them. You can only hypnotize someone if they’re willing to be hypnotized.”

“Why would even a human be willing to allow such a thing?” Alexander demanded. 

“Hypnosis can help you remember stuff that you wouldn’t otherwise. It can also be used to help you stop smoking or to eat less.” 

“If you’re too weak of will to do such things for yourself,” Alexander concluded contemptuously. 

“So Morthos hypnotized you?” Solan asked. 

“No, it was like hypnosis, but that wasn’t it.” Justin hesitated. “I think he cast a spell on me.”

“What is a ‘spell’?” Alexander asked.

“Magic,” Justin clarified. “It’s the ability to make things happen that couldn’t happen naturally. Like shooting lightning from your fingers, or growing living beings to the size of giants in seconds.”

“Sorcery,” Solan whispered. “Morthos is a sorcerer.” 

“Yes,” Justin confirmed.

“There is no such thing as magic!” Alexander angrily protested. 

“Yes, there is! Magic might not exist in your universe, but it exists in mine, and in Solan’s.”

“So whatever Morthos wishes becomes reality? Why are you still alive, then?” 

“It doesn’t work like that. It’s like cooking; you have to do the right things and combine the right ingredients to get the effect you want. I never fought any bad guys that used magic, but the past Rangers did and I read their accounts of what Rita and Zedd could do. I don’t think Morthos is as powerful as they were, but he was strong enough to get me.” 

“Once he had me under his power he drew a circle in the sand with symbols around it. He made me lie down in the center and chanted for a long time. After he finished he tried to stab me in the heart.” 

“When I saw him about to use the knife I was able to break free of whatever he’d done to me. I stopped his thrust and threw him down on the sand. I got on top of him, pinned him down, and then I . . . I lost it. I started punching him in the face, and I couldn’t stop!”

So it was Justin had given that beating to Morthos! Now there was a surprise! Who would have thought Mr. Make-Love-Not-War even had it in him? Of course he had been too weak to finish the job, and that was unfortunate; it sounded like Morthos was a serious threat. 

Justin had seemed ashamed as he related the part about battering Morthos. Now he raised his head again.

“I got control myself back under control before I killed him. I cleaned him up, and then I tied him to a tree. I had to gag him to make sure he couldn’t do anything else to me. I didn’t try talking to him again; after what I did to him and what he tried to do to me I didn’t think it would do any good.”

Justin paused, taking a drink from the glass in front of him to wet his throat. 

“A few hours later the ninja arrived. He’s the boy all in black that you saw limping after dinner. A ninja is a hired killer from the Eastern part of my Earth’s past. He had about the same technology as from your time, Solan. He used a sword and shurikens, metal throwing stars. He got me with a couple of those and then we fought. I was tired and wounded; he was neither. He was also really fast and good with his blade. I don’t think I’d have been able to beat him, except I managed to get him to step on one of his own throwing stars. That’s why he’s limping.” 

“After I knocked him out I tied him to a tree too. I tried talking to him when he woke up, but he just kept calling me names. I met up with Alexander again and we agreed to a truce, right before we ended up back here.”

No one said anything after Justin finished. Seeing that there weren’t any questions the auburn-haired teen turned to Kenny.

“You said you didn’t see anyone all day?”

“Right,” Kenny confirmed. 

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Justin turned to Solan. 

“Who did you meet today, Solan? What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” the Grecian insisted. 

“Solan, I know this is hard for you, but you have to talk about it. We need to know what you saw today, what happened with you and Jo.”

The boy flinched at the mention of her name, but still didn’t speak.

“You’ll feel better once you’ve talked about it,” Justin promised. 

“How will I feel better?” Solan demanded roughly. “Will telling you change anything?” 

“You and Jo ran into that big blond guy, didn’t you?” Justin asked gently.

When Solan spoke it sounded as if he was trembling between tears and rage. 

“We found the oasis before noon. We had lunch and we waited, hoping you or Josh or Kenny would arrive. Jo was up on one of the sand dunes as a look-out, and she saw him first. It was the boy she’d arm-wrestled last night, the one who was super-strong, like her.”

He stopped for a few seconds; then the words seemed to explode out of him. 

“I wanted to help! I offered to jump him when he got to the oasis, to distract him, but Jo said no. She said-she told me to run. To run, and keep running until she came after me and shouted the word “Beetleborg.” 

“So I ran, until I couldn’t go any further. No one came after me. When I saw Jo wasn’t here, I knew . . . I knew he’d killed her.” 

The dead silence which fell after Solan finished was shattered by a snort from Alexander. 

“So you fled and left your ally to die alone and unaided,” Alexander summed up in visible disgust. “Is this how warriors behave on your world?”

“Alexander!” Justin snapped angrily. Solan flinched, but didn’t try to answer his accuser. He didn’t even look at Alexander, his gaze fixed solidly on the table before him. 

“That’s enough!” Justin all but snarled at the alien. Alexander returned an equally heated stare to Justin and the quiet anger in his voice matched and exceeded what was in the Ranger’s. Kenny came perilously close to smiling. This was getting good. 

“Never presume to dictate to me, human!” he warned dangerously. “You sought MY presence here. If you and your kind are so weak you cannot bear to hear the truth, then there is no point in my remaining.”

He rose to his feet and Justin glanced quickly to Solan, then back again, before standing up as well. “You don’t understand! Solan isn’t a warrior; he doesn’t have any experience in fighting.”

Alexander regarded Justin doubtfully, but made no move to leave. “Archon said he had gathered together warriors. Everyone here should be a fighter!”

“Solan isn’t,” Justin assured the alien. “Kenny really isn’t either,” he added, with an apologetic glance which took the Immortal by surprise. “He knows how to box, but he’s never been in a life-or-death battle.” 

Yes, let Justin keep on thinking that, and the alien too. Solan was keeping quiet, but his changing body language spoke volumes to Kenny. His once slumped posture had grown tense and rigid. His face was flushed and his formerly open hands were closed fists, clenched so tightly that his knuckles were beginning to whiten. The little spat between Justin and Alexander couldn’t hold a candle to the fury clearly building within the Grecian preteen. 

Alexander’s next comment did nothing to help matters. 

“That’s why they joined with you, why they agreed not to kill!” he announced in the tones of one experiencing a sudden revelation. “They cannot! Their only hope is to somehow end this tournament before they are killed!”

Obviously pained by the Klingon’s blunt and cynical assessment Justin began to explain that the important thing was that the contest was wrong, that Archon had no right to kidnap them all and force them to murder each other.

Halfway through his heartfelt speech Solan abruptly stood up, knocking his chair back, and started for the door. 

“Solan, wait!” Justin called after him, but the boy didn’t slow. He paused at the door of the cafeteria, trembling minutely, and turned around. 

“Keep talking with them,” he instructed the Ranger. “I have nothing more to say.” 

Then he was gone. 

Justin seemed set to go after Solan when Alexander spoke again.

“You are the only one of your group who can fight,” he observed in bemusement. “Do you truly hope to defeat Archon alone?”

“No!” Justin shouted, whirling back to the alien. “That’s my whole point, he CAN’T be defeated alone! If we spend all our time and energy fighting each other he’ll win. He’ll get exactly what he wants: a blood-sport with a single survivor. The only way we can beat him is by joining together into a team!”

Alexander regarded Justin thoughtfully before returning to his own chair. 

“And if everyone here did as you say, what then? How would you best Archon?”

Justin sat down as well. “I don’t know,” he admitted dispiritedly. “I don’t know what he would do if we made peace with each other, how he would react. All I know is that to have even a chance of winning against him we need to stop playing by his rules.”

Then Kenny did a double take because the alien was laughing, actually laughing! He clapped Justin heartily on the shoulder. 

“You have spirit, human!” he said, still chortling. “I don’t know if you are sane or not, but you do have spirit!” 

“Thanks,” Justin replied with a tired half-smile of his own. 

“So tell me of your world. Are people like you common there?”

Kenny tuned out of the conversation at that point. Now they were going to get into stories about each other’s lives and worlds, none of which would help him. It was time to go. 

“I’m going back to my room,” he announced. “I feel like lying down for a while.” 

“All right,” Justin agreed. “But before you go, did you want to talk? About anything? I’m sorry we haven’t had a chance to before. You’ve been holding up great, as well as anyone here, but I know you’ve never been in a situation like-”

“I’m fine,” Kenny cut him off abruptly, a hint of his sudden rage seeping into his voice. Being patronized by this decade and a half old infant was simply too much for him to take! What did the naïve, nauseatingly sweet karate kid really know about what situations like this? Had Justin the Ranger ever been trapped in a life-and-death struggle with a host of enemies larger and more powerful than he was? Of course not, not when he had that damn morpher of his to empower him! How wonderfully convenient it must be, to have a technological way to transcend the physical limitations of a child’s body! How easy life as a Ranger must have been for the boy! 

And that would be his undoing. Justin had been spoiled by his advantages, to the point where he had lost touch with reality. He had let his idealistic fantasies lead him down a path which was certain to end in his own destruction. If he had ever once had to struggle, really struggle for his life, the way Kenny had, he would know better. He would understand that in the real world only one thing mattered: survival. You did whatever you had to, killed whoever you had to, in order to survive. Sooner or later every Immortal realized this fundamental truth-assuming they lived long enough. Kenny himself had cut short the careers of dozens of Immortals who hadn’t quite made it to that vital realization in time.

Justin was exactly like those fools he had slain, Kenny concluded as he passed through the cafeteria door. He dearly hoped he would meet up with the teen in the Battlefield tomorrow. He could take advantage of the boy’s protection and, assuming no one else finished the Ranger first, he’d have the distinct pleasure of taking Justin’s head at the end of the day. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

The level of technology which Alexander described his society as possessing enthralled the techno-geek side of Justin. Unfortunately Alexander was not a technician and could give only cursory explanations about the Klingon machinery, rather than the in-depth schematics the teenager would have preferred. 

It bemused Justin more than a little that he could still take an interest in such matters, given his current circumstances. Maybe that was why he was interested, so that he could distract himself. 

If so, the technique didn’t work for long. Right after he said good-bye to Alexander his mind flipped back to the situation they were in. Yesterday had been awful, but today was surpassed only by the day his mother had died as the worst day of his life. He had lost two friends today. No, more than just friends; he had lost two teammates.

He had asked them to join him. They had willingly come together under his leadership, and now they were dead. Power Rangers were supposed to protect the innocent, but he sure hadn’t protected Jo and Josh. The last time he had seen them, now the last time he would ever see them, had been at breakfast. Where had he been when they were attacked? When they were murdered?

The soothing blue of his room’s décor did nothing for Justin’s mood as he entered and slumped down on the bed, wincing slightly as his wounded shoulder and torso flared with pain. Neither injury was really serious, but they were both pretty painful. Right now, though, he needed to think about those he had lost, not himself. 

Jo had been an active super-hero for even longer than he had. She and her brother and his friend had defended Charterville for years. And Josh, he had saved his entire timeline! That was an achievement far grander in scope and importance than anything Justin ever hoped to accomplish himself. 

That Jo and Josh should both die here was so wrong that he couldn’t properly express the depth of it. The first of many tears to come that night glimmered in his brown eyes. Jo and Josh didn’t deserve this, damn it! They’d been heroes! 

No Ranger Justin had known had ever died. Maybe subconsciously he’d come to believe that they couldn’t, that being on the right side made one invulnerable. Oh, he’d still gotten scared sometimes. When they lost their Ranger powers and had Divatox and her minions right outside, he’d admitted as much to Carlos. Looking back now, though, he saw that even then he hadn’t really understood, hadn’t fully grasped and comprehended the possibility that this could be it; that their lives could all be over.

He might have come to this realization yesterday, if he’d only spent a little time thinking about how he’d ended up here. But yesterday his mind had been one hundred percent focused on looking forward, on doing and planning for the future. He hadn’t spent a single instant in reflection on what was behind him. 

Now he did. He’d been brought here because he had been about to die in his world. As a Ranger, in the line of duty, he had been about to die. Not in danger, not risking death, but confronting it as an absolute certainty. They were all here because they had faced certain death, and if Archon had his way, all but one of them would do so again.

What on Earth was wrong with their captor? How could he even imagine saving children’s lives, only to force them to kill each other? What possible point was there to such a thing? What purpose did it serve, except perhaps, to entertain him? Could that really be the reason? Had Archon done all of this just to get some kind of vicarious, voyeuristic thrill out of watching them fight and die? 

He’d never hated anyone before, not even Divatox, but God, how he hated Archon! Leaving them to die on their own worlds would have been kinder than this.

The teenaged Ranger stayed huddled on his bed for almost an hour. He mourned for his friends, cursing himself bitterly for failing to save them. And perhaps he mourned, too, for the loss of something within him: for the death of his innocence. 

When at last the tears stopped Justin stood up, went into the bathroom and washed his face. He scrubbed away all visible evidence of his crying; that was the last thing Solan and Kenny needed to see. 

He had to seem strong for them, even if he didn’t feel that way. They were still relying on him to protect them and get them through this. He didn’t know if he could, but that didn’t change his obligation to try. It was what he was bound to do as a Ranger and simply as a human being. Aside from that, he wanted desperately to save them, especially Solan. 

Admitting that cost Justin a pang of guilt. It didn’t seem right for him as a Ranger to care more about one than the other, but that didn’t change the way he felt. During their hours of conversation yesterday he had shared a great deal with Solan and the younger boy had reciprocated. Like Nico, Solan was open, friendly, and honest. Justin respected Solan’s courage in the face of their situation, enjoyed the boy’s wide-eyed wonder at the details of 20th century Earth, empathized deeply both with the loneliness Solan had felt growing up as the only human in a centaur village (which even beat out his own experiences as a twelve year-old high school student) and with the sorrow he had endured from the loss of his mother (another pain Justin was all too familiar with). Of course Solan had also lost his father, and recently his adoptive father. And unlike Justin, Solan had never been accepted into a group like the Rangers. Actually, check that last one. Solan had said he would have begun traveling with his friend Xena, the Warrior Princess, who sounded pretty close to a Ranger herself. Seeing the way his whole face had brightened when he talked about going with her and Gabrielle made it clear how much her being willing take him in had meant. But he had wound up here before he could even leave the village with her.

Solan’s life had been hard enough before he’d been brought here; his abduction merely added insult to injury, since he had no real way of defending himself in this murderous contest. That the preteen had held up so well in spite of his vulnerability was a testament to his fortitude and inner strength. The additional burden Jo’s death had obviously placed on him, however, might be too much for him to bear. It was natural for him to feel guilty, but Justin doubted there was anything Solan could have done for Jo if he’d stayed, aside from dying with her. 

Kenny had toughed things out pretty spectacularly too so far, but whereas Justin knew Solan and deeply liked him, he knew virtually nothing about Kenny. The smaller blond boy simply hadn’t spoken about himself, nor had he stayed to talk yesterday. Or today. 

That was odd, now that Justin came to think about it. Aside from his boxing skill, Kenny was in the same boat as Solan; a normal kid who’d been dragged into this bloodbath without warning. So why hadn’t Kenny freaked out, gone into denial, or spoken with the rest of them for emotional support? Was he still in shock, after two days? It seemed unlikely. 

Maybe he was trying to hold everything inside, not letting any of his emotions out. That was a recipe for disaster; he’d have a break-down for sure if he kept it up. Such an effort might also explain why Kenny was abrasive at times. If he wasn’t dealing with his feelings about being here perhaps his anger and frustration were leaking out in his social interactions. 

Justin needed to talk with both of them, and right away. He had waited too long already, but at first he’d been busy trying to reach out to Alexander. He’d had to make Alexander understand their side, and he thought the alien did now, at least partially. Alexander had been much less hostile, almost jovial, by the time Justin left. Even better, he seemed to really be thinking over the arguments Justin had made for why and how they should oppose Archon. 

Then Justin had spent time dealing with his own feelings about today. Now it was time for him to support what was left of his team, both of whom were probably feeling even worse than he was. 

He went to Solan’s room first. The door didn’t open automatically for him, as the door to his own room had, so he tried slapping the metal and calling Solan’s name. A few seconds later the door did slid aside, with Solan standing just beyond. 

He refused to meet Justin’s gaze and his face was long and drawn. Surprise at Justin’s presence showed briefly before fading back into sadness. 

“Can I come in?” Justin asked. 

Solan didn’t reply, simply nodded and stepped aside. 

In terms of furniture Solan’s room was the same as his. For decoration it naturally lacked Justin’s blue theme and instead seemed to feature a mix of red and black. Yes, this atmosphere should do wonders for anyone already suffering from depression.

“May I?” Justin asked, gesturing to the edge of the bed. Solan nodded again and Justin eased down onto the crimson comforter. He’d hoped Solan might sit down next him, but the other boy remained standing. 

“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?” Justin asked, and almost kicked himself. That was the same stupid question that all of the concerned, well-meaning people (including Kat) had asked him after he lost his mother and Dad sent him to the orphanage. It hadn’t worked on him, it hadn’t worked when he’d tried it on Kenny earlier today, and he was willing to bet it wouldn’t work on Solan now. 

“No,” the Grecian answered, tensing up a bit. “I told you, I have nothing else to say.”

He needed to be more direct, while avoiding being blunt enough to offend. Maybe he could ease into this by addressing a lesser, related issue. 

“Solan, Alexander was being a jerk. He seems to come from an entire race of warriors, so he doesn’t understand-” Justin said, beginning his explanation. 

“Doesn’t understand what?” Solan interrupted angrily. “How anyone can be so useless?”

“Don’t say that! What happened to Jo wasn’t your fault!” Justin assured him, diving into the heart of the matter.

“It was my fault!” he insisted, his voice breaking. “If she’d been with you or Josh she could have beaten him. Instead she was with me, and all I could do was run away,” he concluded bitterly. 

“Throughout my whole life the people I’ve cared about have died,” Solan confided, turning away from Justin and beginning to pace the floor of the room. “After I lost Kaleipus I told Xena that maybe I was the reason for their deaths. She said I wasn’t, but she was wrong! My father was murdered by Dagnine’ soldiers and my mother perished from grief over his loss. Gabrielle could have died defending me from Dagnine’ men and Xena might have died rescuing me! Kaleipus was killed because he was trying to protect me from Callisto, and I’d have died at the hands of that little girl if Archon hadn’t taken me. Then Jo was murdered today, while I ran. All of these deaths were because of me, because I wasn’t strong enough to fight at their sides, or for myself!”

The sheer self-loathing in Solan’s voice tore at Justin’s heart, and he didn’t know how to counter it. What could he possibly say to fix this? He grabbed at the first point of argument he could think of. 

“Solan, you told me you were just a baby when your parents died. How could you have fought then?”

For the first time Solan met his gaze. “Yes, I was a baby then. But what’s my excuse now?” he demanded harshly.

“You told me that you became a POWER RANGER when you were my age!” he shouted down at Justin, an almost accusatory tone in his voice. “I saw you fight yesterday. You’re only two years older than me and you already fight like Xena, even without most of your Ranger powers!”

“That’s only because my Dad taught me karate!” Justin qualified, and he didn’t miss the look of pain on Solan’s face at his response. Then something else became visible there: a sudden dawning hope. 

Solan came over and sat down next to Justin on the bed, staring at the Ranger in the way Justin imagined he must have stared when he first caught sight of the oasis in the desert. Being the recipient of such a look made him feel intensely uncomfortable. 

“I need you to teach me,” Solan said pleadingly. “Please, Justin, teach me how to fight like you do!” 

The request floored the teenager. For a long moment he could only gape at Solan, uncertain of how to respond. He’d like to say yes, to agree to help his friend, but it simply wasn’t possible. They had about twelve hours until they found themselves back in the Battlefield, and that wasn’t enough time to teach Solan anything of real value. Not to mention that they were both exhausted from a day spent roaming the desert. Nor was the Grecian in the right frame of mind to learn. He was angry and upset, not calm and clear of mind. He’d probably insist on spending all of the time they had left being instructed, and pulling an all-nighter could cost both of them their lives. Lastly, instructing Solan at all would increase the odds that he would decide to try to fight instead of running, and doing that would only get him killed. 

Justin took his friend’s hands in his own and looked the Grecian boy directly in the eye. 

“Solan, I wish I could, but I can’t! The level of skill you want takes years of practice. I’ve been learning karate most of my life to get to where I am now. The little I could teach you tonight wouldn’t do you any good.”

“You-you won’t help me?” Solan asked, as if he couldn’t believe it. 

“I can’t help you,” Justin clarified. “There just isn’t enough time. I’m sorry,” he apologized. The unarguable truth of what he was saying did nothing to mitigate Justin’s own guilt and sense of failure. 

The wild, desperate hope which had so lit up Solan’s face flickered and died. He pulled his hands free of Justin’s and turned half away from him on the bed. Justin struggled within himself to find something to say, the right words to comfort his friend. 

He could think of nothing. 

Finally Justin spoke, giving voice to the most positive news he had.

“Alexander is considering what I said and I think he might join us for good. I’m sure we can trust him to keep his word tomorrow. If you encounter him, stay with him, okay?”

Solan just sat there, his head bowed, his expression horribly empty. 

Justin put a hand on the preteen’s shoulder and felt it tense under his touch. 

“I swear, I’ll do everything I can to protect you tomorrow.” 

“Justin, please go,” Solan requested quietly. 

Just as it had felt wrong to let Solan leave the cafeteria earlier, so it felt wrong to leave him now. But what else was there to do or say?

Justin walked slowly to the door, which opened at his approach. He turned back to look at his friend, hating the slumped, defeated posture he saw.

“Try to get some sleep,” he urged. When no response was forthcoming, he said, “Good night, Solan,” and departed.

Justin headed down the hallway toward Kenny’s room in an even bleaker mood than when he’d left his own chambers. He’d visited to try to raise Solan’s spirits, and instead he had only succeeded in making the younger boy feel worse. Some team leader!

Working with technology was so much easier than working with people.

He slammed his hand on Kenny’s door and announced himself. The door slid open slid open and shorter blond boy eyed Justin in a distinctly unfriendly way. 

“What do you want?” Kenny asked peremptorily. 

Though somewhat taken aback by the rudeness, Justin forced a smile and said, “I wanted to talk with you. I was hoping to find out more about what your Earth is like.”

Having to think about home could worsen Kenny’s feelings, but it might also bring them out into the open so he could deal with them. 

“I don’t feel like talking,” Kenny shot back and retreated further into the room. 

“Kenny, wait!” Justin urged, holding his arm out to stop the door from closing. “You’re trapped in this nightmare like we are, but you’ve kind of cut yourself off from the rest of us. You don’t have to go through this alone.” 

“No? Won’t we all be alone tomorrow?” Kenny asked. 

“I hope we’ll be able to find and defend each other tomorrow, and I’m here now if you’ll talk to me.”

“I’ll look for you tomorrow. Right now I want you to leave me alone!”

To Justin’s surprise, Kenny grabbed his arm and shoved it away from the doorframe. The door slid closed, separating them.

Justin stood there for a moment, a sense of abject failure again washing over him. Slowly he turned and walked back to his room.  
ΩΩΩΩΩ 

What was the blond boy with the sword? That was a question which had occupied Colin’s mind, off and on, since their meeting at the oasis.

He had drained the unconscious boy dry before burying the child in the sand dune. There hadn’t been nearly enough blood left in those veins to sustain life, and there certainly hadn’t been any air under that sand dune to breath!

Yet somehow the kid had dug his way out of the grave Colin had put him in and started walking around the oasis. How? 

There was no trace of demon or vampire in the child; he’d have smelled that in an instant. Nor did he know of any supernatural being which could return to life after being killed. The boy was something else, a type of creature unknown to Colin, and all the more dangerous because of it. That was why he hadn’t followed when the child had retreated from the oasis. 

Still, during their fight the boy had demonstrated no other special abilities, and had fled after regaining his sword. Perhaps his uncanny power to resurrect himself was the only one he possessed? Which still left the question: how could he be permanently killed? 

A few possibilities had occurred to the Anointed, which he would try if given the chance. Of greater concern to him at the moment, however, was the problem of Morthos. It had been a vast relief for him not to run into the boy today, and a grave disappointment when Morthos had appeared alive at the dining hall. He had hoped feverishly that someone else would finish the boy. Unless he was able to kill Morthos before he could mouth the enchantment, or unless someone else took the warlock out before they met again, there seemed to be no way for him to avoid falling once more under the mortal’s control.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Will enjoyed the spray of the shower-head washing over his body, cleansing it of the sweat from his work-out. He had relished having the weight-room all to himself, especially when he recalled what he’d done to the girl he’d had to share it with last night. Hurting her . . . and then doing that other thing before he killed her . . . it had been wonderful! And who knew what fun tomorrow would bring? 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Shin-Ren had spent the entire time since his return from the Battlefield trying to contain his feelings, to control himself. He refused to bear the shame of being mastered by his emotions. He would be calm and serene tomorrow when he met his fate and so, even in failure, bring some degree of honor to his clan. 

And fail he surely would. While he could hobble on his injured foot, he was unable to put his full weight upon it. Such a disability would make it almost impossible for him to succeed in slaying all who opposed him the next day. So he would die, but die well, taking as many of his enemies with him as he could. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

After dinner Morthos basted in his own anger and frustration. He still had not thoroughly gone over his book. He had meant to do so last evening, but his tome had been taken from him when he was brought to the dining hall, along with all the other “weapons”. This morning he’d been too intent on finding water to sit studying his spellbook, and that had led to his encounter with Justin, and the loss of the rest of the day. Now, of course, the book had once more failed to appear with him at the dining hall. 

He doubted there was much in there which could be of great help in the present circumstances, but to be denied the chance to make certain of that was torment! Such mental anguish was, however, certainly less hurtful than the physical battering he had endured today. 

Even now his bruised face and broken nose ached abominably and to the depths of his soul he thirsted for vengeance on the author of his suffering. The indignity and humiliation were actually worse than the pain. Since he had begun training with Enos no one had treated him like that! Even the peasants who’d overcome and bound him had not dared to abuse him in such a manner. To be beaten like . . . like a common street urchin! It could not be borne. 

He wouldn’t just kill Justin tomorrow; he would return tenfold what the “Ranger” had done to him. Before he was finished the impudent dog would beg him for death!

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Of the nine children who remained, only Will slept soundly. All of the others rested fitfully, tossing and turning even after they had at last found temporary refuge in sleep. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ


	6. The Third Day

Alexander awoke grudgingly, dragged from his slumber by the incessant beeping of his computer. He snarled out a heartfelt curse as he rolled over and got out of bed. The instant his feet touched the floor the abominable machine finally fell silent.

Being roused when he was still tired was a minor irritation; far worse was what the alarm symbolized: control. 

Archon thought he could control those he had taken, and everything in Alexander rebelled against the notion. A Klingon warrior served his House and the Empire, but he did not submit to anyone, certainly not to some unseen alien! He needed to make that clear to Archon, for the sake of his own honor and the honor of the House of Mogh. Justin might be human and a bit insane, but he’d been right about defying their kidnapper.

As he went through his morning routine Alexander’s thoughts turned to his odd ally. The Ranger remained a puzzle to him, in spite of their hours of talking yesterday. The other boy was undeniably a great fighter. That he’d been beaten by Justin rankled badly, but it also gave rise to genuine respect for the human. The adolescent had a good mind, keen and sharp. Unfortunately he also had that absurd human softness! 

Alexander understood sparing those who agreed not to fight in order to spite their mutual captor. That was sensible and honorable. But sparing those who tried to kill you? What kind of a warrior did that?!? 

A voice in his head whispered that if Justin hadn’t believed in sparing attackers, he wouldn’t be here right now. He couldn’t deny that shameful truth, but it didn’t mean Justin’s course was correct. He had only acquiesced to Justin’s plan for reasons of honor; how many of the others, all humans, valued honor so highly? Would the two boys Justin spared yesterday return the favor? Would they swing over to his side? 

Alexander had looked into their eyes while they were bound and he already knew the answer to those questions. Neither one would hesitate to kill the Ranger or the pathetic pair Justin was protecting.

Alexander snorted as he finished dressing himself. He was glad he had learned the truth about Solan and Kenny before meeting them in battle; there was no honor to be found in slaughtering those too weak to defend themselves. Still, it was hard not to feel contempt for them, especially that coward Solan. Why were they even here in the first place if they couldn’t fight?

Alexander was the third to arrive at the cafeteria this morning; already present were Justin and that small, dark-haired human, each seated at a table near the door. Justin had a plate of bacon, scrambled eggs, sausages, and a glass containing orange fluid; the other boy had only a large mug. The child didn’t acknowledge him, but Justin seemed positively relieved to see him.

A bit curious now Alexander pulled out the chair nearest the door and sat down next to the Ranger. 

“Good morning,” Justin told him, and he barked out the Klingon equivalent in response. 

“How’d you sleep?” the boy asked and Alexander felt his irritation rising with this stream of inanities. 

“I slept well,” he answered curtly, but Justin’s eyes were fixed on the dark-haired boy, not him. The child appeared intent on draining his mug dry; he seemed to be paying no attention to them. 

His gaze still on the dark-haired boy, Justin asked softly, “Alexander, do you know what a vampire is?”

“No,” he answered, equally quietly. “What is a vampire?”

“In human myth, a vampire was a monster. It looked like a human, but it was undead.”

“Undead?” Alexander asked.

“A dead thing that’s still alive. Vampires didn’t age. They were super-strong and they could turn into a wolf or mist. They could hypnotize you with their gaze and they lived on human blood.” 

“Why are you telling me all of this?” Alexander asked impatiently, though he suspected the reason. 

Justin turned to look directly at the Klingon now.

“I didn’t sleep well last night. I woke up at six and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I came down here about fifteen minutes before eight and I saw him go in ahead of me. I was right behind him to get my breakfast and I heard him say “Blood”, very quietly. The mug appeared and he covered the top with his hand as he turned around, but I was close enough to smell what it was.”

“So he’s a vampire?”

“Do you ever remember seeing him eat anything? Or have you only seen him drink from that mug?”

“I wasn’t watching him,” Alexander said dismissively. 

“I wasn’t either, not really, but I’ve got a great memory, and I remember seeing him drink, nothing more.” 

“So you think he was the wolf that Josh met on the first day?”

Justin visibly winced at the name of his dead ally. “I don’t know. Like I said, I thought that was a werewolf, but now . . . I don’t know.” 

“And you told me yesterday a werewolf could be killed by silver, a metal we do not have. How can a vampire be killed?”

“Sunlight is supposed to do it, for one.”

“Then how did he survive yesterday?”

“I don’t know! I don’t seem to know anything that can help us or save us!” Justin practically shouted, running his right hand distractedly through his hair. 

Alexander stared at Justin uncomprehendingly for an instant before realizing what the outburst was really about. He eyed the discomfited Ranger with more sympathy than he had ever expected to feel for a human. Klingons understood loyalty and fellowship. 

“Warriors fall in battle. You cannot change that,” he observed. 

“You don’t understand. I’m a Power Ranger! Keeping people from getting hurt is what we do!” Justin insisted empathically.

“And Power Rangers are perfect? They never fail?”

Justin energy seemed to ebb as he sank down in his chair. “Not like this,” he whispered. 

Alexander shook his head in wonder. “You are the strangest warrior I’ve ever met,” he admitted.

“Why? Because I want to protect people? Don’t Klingons ever do that?”

There was an edge of challenge to the words and a barb to the tone which made Alexander scowl. 

“You are strange because you deny the truth that warriors must deal in death, because you seek to “protect” people by sparing those who would kill them!” 

“They’re other kids who were kidnapped by Archon, just like we were!”

“And they have chosen to slay at his command. Do you think the “sorcerer” or “ninja” you spared will do the same for you? Will they spare Kenny or Solan, if they meet either one today?” Alexander demanded.

Justin flinched, as though Alexander had struck him. He sat in silence for several seconds. Finally he softly repeated, “They’re kids.” 

“They are warriors,” the three-quarters Klingon corrected harshly. “They are old enough to fight and kill. Why then do you believe they are too young to die?”

With that parting shot Alexander rose to get his breakfast. The sight of Justin’s conflicted expression before he turned away sent a thrill of triumph coursing through him. He’d finally gotten the better of the human, beating him unmercifully with cold, hard reality, and the experience was deeply satisfying. 

While Alexander was walking back from the replicator the door slid open and the large, light-haired human entered the room. He walked straight toward the back wall, and it seemed he would ram Alexander with his shoulder, but he twisted aside at the last second. Alexander growled warningly at him and received a confident sneer in response. The sight of such arrogant defiance awoke an instant desire to at the least break the human’s nose, but he knew better than to try. Archon would know he was a threat to this boy, unlike pitiful Solan, and his blow would never land. Contenting himself therefore with a dark look which promised much Alexander sat back down at Justin’s table while the blond sat with the “vampire”.

Justin looked no better than before; in fact he almost appeared ill. Why was this so hard for him to accept? Even Starfleet, cowardly though it often was, would kill when absolutely necessary. What was wrong with Justin that a warrior of his skill should quail before the most basic necessity of war?

Alexander started to rotate his chair to face the wall and stopped in mid-motion. Since coming here he had always turned away from those sitting at his table before eating, obeying the Klingon proverb to drink not with one’s enemies. It hadn’t mattered who else was at his table, since everyone here was his enemy. 

Now, though, things had changed. He had made an agreement with Justin, Kenny and Solan that they would no longer be his foes; there was no longer a reason for him to turn away. 

Leaning back over the table he tore into the roasted meat enthusiastically, fueling himself for the battles to come. By the time he had finished three more contestants had entered the room. The “ninja” limped in first, sitting at the only empty table after getting his meal. After him came Kenny and almost at the same moment the “sorcerer” entered, his face and eyes black and blue with bruises. He stared at Justin with undisguised venom as he got his food and took his place at the ninja’s table, but the Ranger didn’t seem to notice. 

Solan and the floating girl came in last and neither looked good. The girl’s face was gaunt with pain, her broken limb wrapped in some kind of make-shift bandage made from a bed blanket. She passed through the air with stilted, deliberate care. That was definitely a hopeful sign; maybe her pain would impair the use of her telekinesis. She eased herself into the chair at the ninja and sorcerer table.

Solan’s blue eyes were dull and had bags under them. He moved with a listlessness and lethargy which betrayed a lack of sleep, a lack of hope, or both. When he saw there was no chair left for him at Justin’s table he turned toward the remaining empty chair and hesitated, probably in fear. Then he moved with more speed and decisiveness than he had displayed thus far, grabbing the back of the chair and dragging it toward Justin’s table. 

“Too afraid to sit with me?” the big blond asked tauntingly. “Get away while you still can, then,” he finished with open contempt. Solan looked toward the other boy, but his back was to Alexander and the expression on his face was therefore unseen. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem to worry the large blond, whose smug, satisfied smile merely widened. 

Solan sat down at the table after getting his breakfast and Justin, who had offered no more than a perfunctory greeting to Kenny, somehow managed to dredge up a smile. Solan’s answering expression, however, was more of a grimace than anything else. 

In low tones Justin explained what had discovered about the dark-haired boy, his suspicion that the child might be this “vampire” creature. Solan and Kenny both seemed familiar with the term, so stories about these beings must be common on all three Earths. 

Sunlight was mentioned again in the discussion as one of the supposed ways to kill a vampire, and also piercing the heart, preferably with a weapon of wood, and decapitation. His bat’leth should work well enough for that last method, at least. 

Then Justin urged them to get food and bottled water from the replicator. Why on Kronos hadn’t he thought of that himself yesterday? It would have saved him from much hunger and thirst in the desert. 

After they had taken supplies from the replicator almost everyone else in the room quickly did the same, stuffing food and water bottles into pockets when possible and carrying them when not. The only one who didn’t get anything from the replicator was the small, dark-haired boy, the suspected vampire. 

Justin was busy giving last minute advice to his two hangers-on. 

“Run if anyone else finds you, and if you can’t get away, scream. If Alexander or I are close enough to hear it, we’ll get to you as quickly as we can. Don’t shout unless you have to, though; there’s too great a chance of attracting one of the others.” 

That was an opening which Alexander couldn’t resist. 

“Why is that wrong? Shouldn’t they try to attract other warriors, in order to win them to your side?” 

The tone of his question wasn’t quite openly mocking-but it was close. Justin’s features tightened in reaction, and his subsequent words emerged as though they had been ground out of him. 

“They don’t need to take that risk. I’ll talk to whoever I can find who will listen.”

“Because you can fight back when they attack you, while Kenny and I would just be slaughtered,” Solan stated bitterly.

Justin bit his lip as his gaze shifted to Solan. “Solan,” he began, and didn’t continue. Several seconds passed and still the Ranger said nothing. Maybe he recognized that there was nothing to say, that there were no words he could use to soften the harsh truth. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

The air was clear and crisp, and much cooler than it had been either in the desert or the tunnels. Fluffy white clouds overhead moved lazily across the blue sky, though none of them obscured the blazing face of the sun. Beneath him was solid rock, tilted at an angle, which caused him to flail for a moment before regaining his balance. 

Feeling a renewed stab of pain from his injured foot Shin-Ren sank down into a sitting position. To his left a very large outcropping of rock blocked his view, while a few hundred feet to the right the stone surface dipped down into a crevasse before rising back up again. Above him the sheet of rock ran as far as he could see, maintaining the same angle, while a few yards down was a very abrupt drop-off. 

The teen quickly took stock of his possessions. His weapons had been returned to him and he still had food and water he had brought from the dining hall to sustain him. 

Leaving his provisions where he had appeared, Shin-Ren slowly and carefully made his way to the edge and peered over. A vertical wall of rock stretched down to the indistinct ground far, far below. Immediately he fell back, his suspicion confirmed. He was on the side of a mountain, in an area not too steep to be traversed on foot. 

It could be traversed on foot, but he would not do so for long. Walking on the uneven surface was even more painful than walking on the flat floor of the living quarters. He would make his way to the top part of the outcropping on his left, meeting it at the point where it emerged from the surface of the mountain itself. That would give him the best vantage point in the immediate area to watch for his foes. Picking up his provisions and gritting his teeth against the pain, he began his journey. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Once again Morthos found himself longing for the underground labyrinth. The heat and extra effort required to walk in the sand yesterday had been all but unbearable. Now the heat was thankfully absent, but the slanted surface was as difficult to walk on as the sand had been. The gaps, protrusions of rock and other vagaries of the environment actually made it even more taxing to move through than the desert had been. 

Also it made him decidedly . . . uncomfortable to be on a mountain. Not just physically, but spiritually as well. Often it was to mountains that the servants of his master’s enemy had gone to commune with Him. Here Morthos was nearer to the heavens than to the Earth, and that fact repelled him. While underground he had felt almost at home; now he had the definite sense that he was in enemy territory. The sooner this day ended and he got away from this place, the better pleased he would be. In the meantime, however, he had numerous enemies to slay. 

When he had first arrived here he had seized the opportunity to at last go over his sacred text. Unfortunately prolonged study of the book had, as he feared, disclosed little which could aid him. The spells either took too long to take effect, required items he did not possess, or were simply of no use to him in this matter. Cursing a cow so that it would cease giving milk and become barren was hardly helpful in the current situation, nor was the hex which would cause crops to fail. 

He could always employ the evil eye, which brought ill fortune to the victim, but its actual effect was wholly unpredictable and not necessarily immediate. It wasn’t a weapon to rely on when your very life was at stake.

If only he’d been able to summon the demon! Then all of this would already be over. Instead he was stuck on a mountain, where he was already feeling dizzy and developing a nasty cough to boot. 

ΩΩΩΩ 

Madeline knew better than to risk trying to fly at any height again. So she cruised along gently about a foot above the surface. A large portion of her concentration was invested in keeping her leg steady; that reduced it to dull ache instead of a sharp jolt of agony. 

She wanted to badly to be done with all of this and go home! The problems she and the other kids faced on Tigris in keeping the adults under control were nothing compared to the trials of this place. In fact it made her think of the Hell her parents had warned her of when she was little. Surely that place couldn’t be any worse than here? 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

There was still no sign of anyone. Given how many of the other people on this mountain would try to kill him on sight that was probably a boon. Being alone, though, didn’t make it any easier to fight down the fear, especially when you didn’t know how to defend yourself.

Solan grimaced as he continued moving along the gentle slope. Kaleipus had told him more than once that there was no point in self-pity. Instead of feeling sorry for yourself, you should go out and do something to improve your situation.

It was advice he had sought to heed, but his all efforts had been in vain; first Justin and then Kenny had adamantly refused to teach him how to fight. 

He could still feel the shock he had experienced at the brown-haired boy’s answer. It hadn’t even occurred to him that his new friend might not be willing to help him. Of course he had realized that he couldn’t hope to approach the teenager’s level of skill in a single night’s lesson, but surely Justin could have taught him something. Was the Ranger’s style of unarmed combat really that complex? Or did Justin think that any attempt to instruct someone like him would be a waste of time? 

After all, he was two years younger than the Ranger, and he came from what to Justin would be millennia in the past. How primitive and ignorant he must seem to the twentieth century teen! Jo had opened his eyes to that yesterday. Maybe his friend didn’t believe he had what it took to learn karate.

Whatever the older boy’s reason, Justin had denied his plea. Some time later it had occurred to him to try to learn about boxing from Kenny. Boxing wasn’t nearly as good as Justin’s karate but it would be an improvement over what he knew now, which was nothing. Kenny, however, hadn’t even let him finish his question before shutting the door on him. He hadn’t bothered trying to go to Alexander for help; the alien had already made his opinion of Solan clear.

So there was no one who would teach him how to fight unarmed and the one weapon he had some knowledge of how to use, the staff, was nowhere to be found. What was there left for him to do but despair? And hide, like a coward. 

Solan grimaced again. Hiding hadn’t saved him from that strange little girl, and he doubted it would save him now. Besides, where was he supposed to hide? He could duck behind one of the occasional rock outcroppings, but that would only conceal him from one direction, and then only until someone drew even with him. He thought of sitting down where he was and waiting, but lack of activity increased his nervous tension and besides, he hated the idea of being any more passive than he already was. At least while moving he had some control, while by waiting impotently to be found he would have none. 

In the end he had decided to make his way as far up the slope as he could, to the very point where it changed into a sheer cliff. He felt safer right up against rock and it gave him an excellent view of the surrounding area. That was how he was able to spot the distant figure walking well below his level, almost out of sight, and coming the other way. With decidedly mixed feelings he saw that it was Kenny.

He made his way down toward his teammate, having to catch himself at his second step to keep from falling; there was a lot loose rock around the base of the cliff. Kenny stopped and waited for him, not looking particularly glad to see him. He didn’t know whether Kenny disliked him specifically or just disliked everyone. Either way he couldn’t help resenting how the blond has so rudely dismissed him last night. Still, it could have been worse-it could have been Alexander. 

The look Kenny gave him held no warmth and his question was terse. 

“Have you seen anyone?”

“No, have you?”

“No,” Kenny replied shortly. Then he continued in the direction he’d been going. Without a word Solan fell in with him. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Alexander had appeared on a gentle mountain slope, which continued to his left while falling away in a stark cliff to his right. He began walking at once, but barely an hour later realized there was something wrong with him. He was rarely ill and he had felt fine at breakfast, but he was starting to feel dizzy. That, combined with the uneven surface, was slowing him considerably, and there had been times when he’d had to sit down rather than fall down. 

Alexander shook his head in frustration. Whatever this ailment was, it was an unneeded additional burden while he was fighting for his honor and his life. He would simply have to rise above it, to show his enemies the fortitude and endurance of a Klingon warrior. 

This resolve was shattered shortly afterwards by a great heaving in his stomach. He dropped down to the stone, trying to control himself, to fight down his rising gorge, but it was useless. He grew violently sick, expelling his stomach’s contents onto the side of the mountain. 

Alexander quickly moved away from the spot, but went no more than a dozen feet. Contrary to what he had expected, he felt no better than before. What sickness had he caught? 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Will had awoken this morning refreshed and determined to do better than he had yesterday. His experience with Jo had been fantastic, yes, but she had been the only one he had killed. At the time it had seemed like such sound strategy to stay and guard the oasis rather than wander the desert. Everyone would be seeking the water Archon had mentioned. They would be drawn to the oasis and then he would slaughter them. 

Contrary to his expectations, however, no one else had arrived. He had wasted his time doing nothing while the day’s opportunities had passed him by. 

Then, when he got back to the dining hall, he’d been challenged and even attacked by that Solan kid, the one who got away while he was busy with Jo. 

Of course Solan had proven to be no threat, but he never should have been permitted to hit Will if Will wasn’t allowed to hit him back. If the wimp was stupid enough to start something, instead of being grateful for his escape on the Battlefield, then he should have to take the consequences!

Hopefully he could find the boy before someone else finished him off. It would be a special pleasure to show Solan what happened to people who deliberately got in his way. No one attacked him without paying the price; no one. 

Contemplation of what he would do to Solan was a good diversion from the unexpected discomfort he was feeling. His head was pounding and there was a persistent ache in his gut. He hadn’t felt this lousy since . . . since he couldn’t remember when. It was really starting to get to him.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Again Justin shook himself from his thoughts and looked around. He kept getting lost in his own interior debate and walking forward more or less on auto-pilot. Twice now he’d stumbled and fallen on the uneven surface, once when he tripped over a small rock and the other time at an abrupt foot-deep drop off. He needed to get his head in the game before someone ambushed him while his mind was elsewhere. 

The problem was that this wasn’t a game. It was real, literally life or death. His choices had the potential to save lives or to take them, and he no longer had any faith in his own ability to make the right decisions. 

It had all seemed so simple the first day: Find everyone who didn’t want to have to kill another person. Gather them into a team for cooperation and mutual defense. Physically subdue the ones who remained aggressive and convince them that it was Archon they should be opposing. Once everyone had joined together and refused to fight each other, Archon would hopefully see the futility of his mad scheme and return them to their homes. 

He’d found the contestants who didn’t want to kill easily enough, but their numbers had been far smaller than he had anticipated. They hadn’t been able to protect each other on the second day as he’d hoped and so half of his team had died, leaving only Solan and Kenny, neither of whom stood much chance of overcoming an attacker. He had achieved partial success in persuading Alexander to join them, but that had been more than overshadowed by his complete failure with Morthos and the ninja. 

“Will they spare Kenny or Solan, if they meet either one today?” Alexander had asked him in regards to those two. He hadn’t really answered the question, because he knew the answer was no. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill the kids under his protection, or to kill him if they got the chance. Try as he might, he couldn’t envision either of them suddenly changing course and joining his resistance to Archon. Nor could he imagine the boy who killed Jo and whoever murdered Josh deciding to defy their kidnapper. 

His entire plan had been premised on the theory that even the aggressors could be brought around and made to see the error of their ways. Recent events, however, seemed to show that his theory had been invalid from the start. If that was indeed the case, then his plan was unworkable and he had to . . . what? What on Earth was he supposed to do instead?

He could always continue subduing attackers and trying to reason with them, but at this point he feared that was a fool’s errand, an idealistically willful denial of reality. Moreover, as Alexander had pointed out, taking attackers prisoner ended their threat only for today. Tomorrow they would be free to try again. To keep them from killing he would have to encounter them first each day and defeat them every time; they would only have to defeat him once, or come across one of his teammates before meeting him. 

His only other alternative, though, was . . . was what Alexander had said. No, he couldn’t do that! He couldn’t kill other kids, kids who had been kidnapped just as he had been. 

Kids who had chosen to follow Archon’s sick orders. Kids who had already killed Jo and Josh, and who might still kill Kenny and Solan. He needed to protect what was left of his team. He’d already failed twice; he couldn’t stand the idea of letting yet another person who depended on him die. The question was how far he could morally go to protect them. 

How could he justify killing kidnapped kids his own age? How could he justify not permanently stopping aggressors who had already murdered two of his teammates and were out to slaughter the rest?

During his stint as a Turbo Ranger the line between right and wrong had been clearly defined; here it was so blurred he wasn’t even sure if he could tell which side was which.

At first Justin assumed the splitting headache he was getting was caused by stress from the insoluble dilemma before him. When it was accompanied by a wave of nausea, however, he reconsidered his diagnosis. 

Was he getting sick? That was just what he needed! Wait a minute, though; would Archon allow germs free rein in his controlled environments? That seemed unlikely. Any being who had the power to pluck them from their various times and universes surely had the power to make sure they didn’t get sick. 

Could he have been coming down with this when he was taken? Maybe, but hadn’t Archon said that they had all been fully healed before starting this contest? That would include making sure they were all in good health, wouldn’t it? So what was this? 

Justin’s near-photographic memory soon supplied him with a possible answer: acute mountain sickness. It was a condition which often afflicted people at an altitude over ten thousand feet. It could bring on a variety of symptoms, two of which were headaches and nausea. 

There was no way of knowing for sure that AMS was what he was suffering from, but it was his best guess. Since he could hardly descend to a lower altitude, he would just have to ignore the symptoms as best he could. Besides, he had bigger things to concern himself with than his own physical well-being. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

If she hadn’t seen him move she might have missed him entirely. He was well off to her right and she hadn’t been expecting to find anyone just sitting on one of the spurs of the mountain. She swerved and flew toward the black-clad figure, at the same time lifting him up into the air about two inches above the rock outcropping. 

Probably the easiest way to handle him would be to float him over the edge of the cliff and drop him. Even that would be a bit of a strain on her at this point. Flying usually didn’t take much effort, but flying and keeping her leg held motionless at the same time was exhausting. 

She stopped about fifteen feet from him and that was when his right hand dipped into the sash he wore. He flung something shiny at her and she instinctively stopped it and sent it hurtling back at him. In the time it took her to do that, however, he threw two more of the spinning objects her way. She stopped one.

The other impacted at the base of her throat, its sharp points tearing through her windpipe. Gasping, choking, bleeding, she lost her concentration and fell toward the ground.

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

It took all of his self-discipline not to make a sound as he removed the shuriken from his chest. Once more his own weapons had been turned on him. This time, however, they had also brought him victory. 

Or had they? Would she recover? He loped over to the fallen girl as quickly as he could, unsheathing his ninja-do on the way. 

He didn’t waste any time examining his fallen foe; he simply ran her through as soon as he was close enough. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

As the morning wore on Solan exchanged less than twenty words with Kenny. The other boy was practically mute and curt to the point of rudeness when he did speak. While traveling with Justin he had almost been able to forget their situation, such was the interplay of excited questions and stories between them. While traveling with Kenny he couldn’t think of anything else. 

They had just finished lunch when Kenny pointed ahead of them and hissed, “Look!” 

A figure was surmounting a rise a few hundred feet away, someone with short, blond hair. The only living contestants left with blond hair were him, Kenny . . . and Jo’s murderer. 

Solan’s fists clenched instinctively. Here was the person he most wanted to kill-had he but possessed the power to do so. Instead all he could do was run, just like he had last time. Just like he always did, except when he tried to stay and fight, and lost. The sheer disgust he felt for himself at that moment was almost palpable. 

Kenny apparently suffered from no such internal turmoil. “Run!” he shouted, shoving Solan down the slope. He then whirled and began sprinting up toward the unseen peak. The big blond broke into a sprint of his own, moving as fast as he could on the uneven surface. 

Solan began making his way down the slope as rapidly as possible. At least this way Kenny would have a chance to escape. He knew better than to think he could; their opponent was coming straight for him, as Solan had known he would.

It looked as if he might be able to make it to the cliff’s edge first and for just a split second he considered not stopping. This momentary impulse was immediately smothered by a wave of deep shame. He had done enough to disgrace himself without taking the coward’s way out in the end. Even if he couldn’t win, he could still fight back. He would give Kenny as much time as possible, and perhaps, just perhaps, make Kaleipus and his father a little proud of him in the process. 

Jo’s killer had swung in right behind him, grinning as he quickly narrowed the gap between them. Solan came to a halt, then turned and ran directly towards his pursuer! The smug smile dissolved into surprise as Solan slammed into the larger boy shoulder first. They both went down in a heap, with Solan on top, and the Grecian followed up by punching his foe in the left eye. 

Solan’s wild feeling of triumph and elation was short-lived; with a snarl his enemy shoved him, sending the smaller boy flying back. 

Solan came down hard, cracking his head on the stone. He browned out for a moment while his attacker moved to stand looming over him. 

“You stupid little wimp,” the boy breathed, his green eyes spitting venom. “Did you really think you could beat me?” 

Solan got to his feet and tried to punch his foe again, but this time his right cross was blocked by the other boy’s left forearm, and in return he took a right jab to the stomach which dropped him right back to the mountainside, where he lay hugging his midsection. 

“I could have broken your spine with that punch,” his attacker informed him in a casual, almost conversational tone. “I didn’t because I want you to feel what I’m doing to you.”

Solan stared hatefully up at his tormentor, not quite able to keep the tears of pain out of his own eyes. The sight brought another smile to the crew-cut boy’s face. 

That smile was still there when his head suddenly seemed to jump from his neck and tumbled down next to the prone Solan. Even as he screamed the decapitated corpse, spurting blood from the stump, took a trembling step forward and collapsed on top of him.

Panicking now Solan screamed again as he fought frantically to get the body off him. Fueled by adrenaline he managed to shift it to the left, inadvertently dumping it onto the head. Sick, shocked and wearing a fair amount of blood he scrambled away. Only then did he notice the person standing where his attacker had been. 

It was Kenny! He was holding a blood-stained short sword, though a couple of drops seemed to have splattered onto his right hand. On his face was an expression of . . . amusement? 

Solan tried to ask one of the half-dozen questions jostling for space in his mind, but could only stutter and mumble incoherently. Fortunately Kenny seemed to need no prompting. 

“As soon as I saw he had his back to me I changed directions and came down after him. He was too focused on you to check behind him, and I’ve had a lot of practice sneaking up on people.” 

“The sword,” Solan finally managed to say, rising unsteadily to his feet.

“I had it in my backpack,” Kenny explained, casually flicking some of the blood from the blade. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you had it? How-you’re a boxer! Why do you have a sword?”

“I’m not a boxer,” Kenny sneered. “I’m a survivor. That’s why I joined you idiots; I knew I could use you for protection,” Kenny explained, raising his sword to guard position. 

“But-but you saved my life,” Solan protested, not quite able to believe what was happening, how quickly he could go from being in mortal danger to being safe and then back again.

“I didn’t save your life; I took his! Being super-strong made him a threat. You, well, you’re almost not worth killing. Almost.” 

The insult snapped Solan out of his disbelieving daze, leaving him free to act, but he had no idea what he could possibly do. In his current state he couldn’t hope to outrun Kenny, and how was he supposed to fight the backstabbing traitor without losing his own head?

As he backpedaled frantically before Kenny he heard a whispered question. 

“WHY DON’T YOU TAKE THE SWORD FROM HIM, AS A WARRIOR SHOULD BE ABLE TO DO?” 

What in Tarterus . . . ? Archon was asking him this now? When he was about to die? 

“Because I don’t know how!” he shouted at the top his lungs, his fear and frustration and rage all erupting out of him at once. “I’m not a warrior, damn you!” 

The words had scarcely left his mouth when a shimmering wall of light appeared before him, separating him from Kenny. The radiance surged forward to engulf him and he vanished from the mountainside. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Kenny lowered his sword in confusion. What had just happened? That couldn’t have been Solan’s doing! So-Archon? 

“Archon! What happened? Where is Solan?” Kenny demanded. 

“HE THOUGHT HIMSELF UNSUITABLE FOR MY CONTEST, SO I HAVE REMOVED HIM.” 

“What did you do with him?” Kenny questioned out of curiosity rather than concern. 

There was no answer, although Kenny could certainly hazard a guess. The prospect of such casual termination sent a chill through him, considering his own thoughts about having been included in this tournament. He was glad now that he had never given voice to his feelings, as Solan had. What had led him to shout out like that? It sounded like he was answering a question. Had Archon communicated with him? 

Kenny hadn’t really hated Solan the way he hated Justin, but in killing the big guy he had unavoidably tipped his hand. There was no way to explain having a sword, so there had been no choice for him but to silence the Grecian boy. Archon removing Solan actually served his purpose just as well as beheading the child would have. 

What was truly disturbing and frightening was this unexpected proof of Archon’s capriciousness. If he could suddenly remove Solan like that, who might he remove next, and for what reason? Staying alive was hard enough without their captor killing contestants on a whim. Then again, this could end up working in his favor. If Archon happened to remove some of the more powerful, aggressive competitors it would certainly increase his own chances of victory. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

It hit him with no warning at all. One second he was gamely coping with the headache and nausea; the next the headache blossomed into a skull-splitting migraine and the nausea grew so intense he could barely hold down his rising gorge. 

He dropped his knees, the Turbo Blade falling from his hand as he wrenched off his helmet. The cool mountain air on his face did nothing to alleviate his symptoms, and now he was feeling weak and feverish as well. 

He huddled in a heap, trying not to cry from the pain or lose the lunch he’d eaten an hour ago. He didn’t try to rise back up; in his current state he doubted he could stand. 

What was wrong with him? Acute mountain sickness didn’t work like this! Had it always been something else entirely, some illness of this alien environment? 

The harsh bark of a cough coming from somewhere to his right alerted him to the presence of another. Grabbing the sword he swung it frantically, the weapon almost flying out of his grasp in the process. He was rewarded by a curse, though his blade didn’t connect with anything. 

Justin continued swinging with what little energy he had left as got his legs under him and rotated to face his enemy, Morthos. In the dark-haired boy’s right hand was his wavy-bladed kris dagger and on his bruised, pock-marked face was a look of evil glee and unholy anticipation. He stood just outside the scything arc of Justin’s Turbo Blade and his intentions were clear: he was going to dart in when he saw an opening and deliver the death blow with his dagger. 

The warlock wouldn’t have to wait long for his chance. The pain in Justin’s head was incredible, nausea rolled through his body in waves and he felt drained of strength. His arm shook as it swept his sword back and forth and the light Turbo Blade seemed to weight fifty pounds. Morthos’ yellow eyes were fixed tightly on his blade and the boy’s body was tensing, preparing for a forward rush. 

Justin’s mind whirled frantically, seeking an escape from his predicament. There had to be some way out of this, a way to subdue Morthos, but whatever it might be he couldn’t see it. He was almost out of time, he knew; any second Morthos would be driving that dagger into him. He had to do something, and he had to do it now! 

For all of his prodigious intellect, Justin’s next actions were not the result of any conscious deliberation or thought; they were instead the product of pure desperation and instinct. He lurched to his feet to face his foe, but he had been right to doubt his ability to stand. Immediately he pitched forward. He brought his left hand up to keep from hitting the rock face first, while his right hand, the one holding the Turbo Blade, thrust the weapon out in front of him as he fell. There was a wet, meaty sound as the sword hit and cut into something, and was almost immediately torn from his grasp. 

As he lay there Justin slowly inclined his head and took in what he had done. Morthos stood over him, his Turbo Blade having pierced the small boy’s chest. It was still lodged there, and the child was gazing down at it with an expression of bewildered disbelief. Slowly the boy’s own head rose and his gaze met Justin’s. The disbelief faded in an instant, to be replaced by the most intense look of loathing Justin had ever seen. Morthos coughed repeatedly, bringing up blood in the process. The bright red liquid streamed out of his mouth and spilled over his chin, further staining his dark robes. He had dropped his kris dagger and instead of reaching down to retrieve it his trembling hands closed around the hilt of the Turbo Blade. With convulsive strength he tore the weapon out of his body and raised it overhead, just as he had his dagger yesterday.

Though suffused with horror over what he had done and in terror for his own life, Justin was no longer acting on blind emotion and instinct. He saw at once that, given Morthos’ reach, the boy could not stand upright and still plunge the sword down into his prone form; the warlock would have to get closer. He made the conscious decision to reach out and scoop up the fallen kris dagger with his left hand. And when Morthos dropped to one knee, Justin chose to stab upward with the dagger, driving the tip of the wavy blade into Morthos’ heart. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Alexander could have stayed where he was. He could have curled up and not moved, conceding to both his dizziness and being repeatedly and violently sick. He could have simply sat and waited, knowing that he would be at a substantial disadvantage if he did meet up with any of the other contestants. 

Such a course of action never even occurred to him. 

Step by step Alexander made his way forward, slowly, but relentlessly. When he would stumble and fall, he would soon pick himself back up again and continue. His symptoms did not lessen and his weariness increased and still he continued on his way. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Colin had first tried ascending the slope and had ended up at the sheer cliff. He had been about to turn away when he took a second glance at the loose rock lying around the area. Sifting through it he had found three small stones and had put them in his pocket. As a human this form had once been a fine Little League pitcher and he figured he might be able to make good use of these rocks. 

From there he moved down to a more central position, keeping both his eyes and his nose open. Eventually he came across Justin’s scent and began to follow it. He tracked the brown-haired boy well into the afternoon before Justin’s scent was almost overpowered by the odor of blood. 

Moving more slowly and more cautiously Colin continued his approach. He soon spotted a figure lying slumped on the stone ahead of him. There was no sign of anyone else around.

Drawing closer he was able to identify the body by both sight and smell: Morthos! A stunned feeling of joy shot through the vampiric ten year-old at this unexpected gift. The warlock who had taken control of him was dead! No longer would he need to fear enslavement at the hands of another! 

Smiling broadly in pleasure and relief Colin knelt down to examine the corpse. The flesh was still warm; clearly he had died only a short time ago. There were two chest wounds, both of which looked fatal, and one of which still held Morthos’ kris dagger. Tugging hard on the handle he managed to wrench the weapon free. This was an unexpected bonus, and one he heartily appreciated. Pockets in the robes also held apples and a small canteen of water, but of course those were useless to him. Curiously, water mixed with traces of blood had been spilled in an area next to the body. 

Wait, though, where was Morthos’ spell book? Sniffing the air, he followed Morthos scent about fifty feet further on, where it crossed again with Justin’s. At the intersection lay Morthos’ precious tome, but Colin’s unbeating heart sank when he saw it. 

The book lay open in the middle of a small puddle, next to a couple of empty water bottles. Floating around it were a few torn-out pages which had been shredded into virtual confetti. The main body of the text had been liberally doused with water and then hacked and slashed repeatedly with a sharp instrument. The end result was to leave the volume a torn, sodden, and illegible mess. 

Apparently after killing Morthos Justin had caught sight of the warlock’s spell book and had made sure that no one would ever be able to use it again. Scowling at this thoughtless waste of a potential asset, the young vampire considered his options. 

He could keep following Justin, but then there was the danger of actually catching up with the teenager. The boy had finished Morthos, and that meant he might well be too much for Colin to handle.

Or he could turn around right now and head the other way. Then he would avoid Justin, but he would be going off into the unknown; he could end up facing someone who was even worse.

Better to keep following Justin, he decided. The human would most likely meet anyone in the direction they were traveling in first. Whoever won the ensuing battle would be weakened and thus easier prey for Colin when he did encounter the victor. 

Colin resumed following Justin’s trail, his new kris dagger out and at the ready. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Kenny marched on, his sword once again concealed in his backpack. It wouldn’t do for Justin or Alexander to find him carrying it, and there should be enough time to draw it if he saw anyone else.

For about an hour he was alone. Then he spotted a helmeted figure wearing distinctive blue garb in the distance, coming toward him at a higher point on the slope. Kenny grinned in delight. Just the person he wanted to see!

As he approached Justin he noticed that the boy offered no welcoming words or motions. He strode forward almost mechanically, without any noticeable enthusiasm, and he seemed to be clutching his Turbo Blade quite tightly. 

Did he know? No, that was impossible! How could he know? The only ones who had seen anything incriminating were Josh, Solan, and the vampire; the first two had died before they had a chance to tell anyone and the last wouldn’t be sharing information with Justin in any case. Would he?

Kenny felt himself breaking out in a cold sweat. He actually thought of going for his own blade, but dismissed the idea immediately. If Justin didn’t know anything, then he would be blowing his cover completely by pulling out his sword. If Justin did know something, then not only would he never get to his weapon in time, but it would do him no good even if he could manage to draw it; he hadn’t won a single face-to-face duel in his long, long life. 

“Hi, Justin,” he greeted the other boy, not letting the fear he was feeling show in his voice. He was close enough now that Justin could decapitate him with one swipe of that sword, and he wouldn’t be able to do a thing to stop it. 

“Are you all right?” Justin demanded. His tone was devoid of his usual passion and earnestness; it was forceful and yet somehow brittle.

“I’m fine,” he replied, his tension ebbing. If Justin knew anything, he wouldn’t be bothering with conversation. “I haven’t met up with anybody else yet.” 

“Do you feel sick in any way? Do you have a headache or stomach-ache? Are you dizzy at all?” 

“No,” Kenny answered, completely at sea now. 

“Good,” Justin said, still sounding odd. He began to move forward again. He was going back the way Kenny had come!

“Let’s keep going my way,” Kenny suggested, indicating the other direction. 

“NO!” Justin screamed as he spun back around, his sword visibly trembling in his hand. Kenny could only gape at him in astonishment, wholly taken aback by the Ranger’s reaction. It was like being savaged by a puppy! 

“We’re going this way,” Justin asserted after a few seconds, more calmly, but still with the impression that he was only tenuously keeping himself under control.

Clearly something was very wrong with the boy. Kenny had no idea what the problem might be, but he did see that trying to argue with Justin about which direction they would travel in was futile. He would have to go along with the boy if he meant to keep his cover intact and keep Justin within reach of his blade. 

It was like the various times in the past when he had needed to comply with whatever ridiculous rules his new “guardian” had set for him. He had suffered all manner of indignities in doing so, everything from bedtimes to restrictions on what he could eat. Somehow such submission never got any easier, and his rage at the adult Immortals’ do-gooding arrogance and thoughtlessly assumed superiority over him never lessened.

Such incidents did, however, spark in him additional satisfaction when it came time to sever the relationship. 

“Okay,” Kenny quickly agreed. 

Justin resumed walking and Kenny fell in behind him, his mind racing. How long before it hit five? What if they did make it to the super-strong kid’s corpse? Would Justin believe him when he claimed to have no idea it was there? While there was nothing at the scene to connect him to the killing, it was inherently suspicious for there to be a dead body behind him and no sign of the killer. 

His first instinct was to wait and try to brazen it out if Justin got suspicious. Now, though, Justin’s apparent emotional instability had him wondering if the Ranger would still be as easy a mark for a con. 

He could try to get the sword out of his backpack while they were walking and take Justin from behind, but that seemed at least as risky as trying to claim innocence. If he made any noise, attracted Justin’s attention in any way, then that would be it. Not to mention it was much easier to decapitate someone who was standing still rather than walking ahead of you on an uneven surface. 

He needed more time to weigh the risks involved in each course of action. He also badly needed to rest his legs, and so he called out to Justin.

“Can we stop for a little while? I have to take a break.” 

Justin regarded him from behind the black visor and the nodded assent. Kenny sank down into a sitting position, as did Justin. Taking off his backpack he reached in and withdrew a water bottle. Unscrewing the cap he drank deeply, giving the impression he simply needed to rest and rehydrate. 

Justin drank no water. He sat silent and unmoving. Kenny was reluctant to say anything to him in case he set the Ranger off again. After a few minutes Justin raised his hands, hit the release clasps and removed his helmet. 

You didn’t have to look at the whole face, to take in the set of the jaw or the downturn of the lips; you needed only to look into Justin’s eyes to confirm that he was deeply disturbed about something.

“Kenny, I’m sorry I shouted at you earlier. It’s nothing you did. It’s me,” he finished bleakly.

Kenny licked his lips. Should he try to get Justin to speak further or not? He was curious as to what had caused this change in the Ranger, and playing the sympathetic ear could only add to his credibility when they came across the corpse. Besides, if Justin was apologizing for shouting, he probably wasn’t going to lose it and get physical with Kenny, no matter what sore spot was poked.

“Are you all right? Did something happen?” he asked, with just the right touch of innocent concern. 

Justin didn’t immediately answer, instead drawing in a deep breath, as though he needed to prepare himself for what he was about to do. 

“No, I’m not all right, and yes, something did happen. A while after I got here I started suffering from what I think is Acute Mountain Sickness. It’s a condition that sometimes affects people when they’re above ten thousand feet. I started getting a headache and feeling nauseous. I let myself get distracted by how I was feeling and by-other things,” he paused, visibly swallowing. 

“I wasn’t as alert as I should have been. I didn’t even see him until it was too late!” 

“Didn’t see who?” Kenny questioned. 

“Morthos, the same boy I ran into yesterday. He didn’t try to mind control me again. I don’t know why not; maybe because I broke out of it last time. He did something, though. My headache got a lot worse and so did my nausea. I felt feverish and weak, like the last time I had pneumonia. I fell down and I didn’t think I’d be able to get back up again.”

Now Justin started to speak more quietly and at a slower pace. 

“He came at me from my right. I heard him coughing and I used my Turbo Blade to keep him back, but I couldn’t keep doing that forever! He was standing just outside my reach, waiting for me to get tired, holding up that dagger of his. I didn’t know what to do!” he insisted desperately. 

“I tried to stand up, but I fell and while I was falling I-I thrust out with my sword.” 

Kenny’s interest was really piqued now. He leaned forward eagerly as Justin paused, seemingly searching for the right words. 

“I looked up at him and my Turbo Blade . . . it was embedded in his chest.”

“I didn’t mean to do it, I swear! I wanted to stop him, but I didn’t mean . . . He pulled my sword free and raised it overhead. I think he was already dying, but he still could have killed me before he went.”

Tears were rolling unheeded down Justin’s cheeks as he continued to tell his story. 

“He’d dropped his dagger so I picked it up. When he got down on one knee to stab me, I stabbed him first. I did it on purpose, to save my own life.” 

He raised his face to look directly at Kenny, still crying. 

“I killed him. I killed him and do you know the first thing I felt when I saw him fall? I felt relieved. I was glad, I was so glad that he was dead and I was still alive.”

Now Justin broke down completely, openly sobbing. It took considerable effort for Kenny to maintain his sympathetic expression, to keep his contempt and disgust from showing on his face.

“Oh, boo hoo, I killed an enemy and survived without a scratch! Oh, woe is me! How much happier I would be if only I were the one lying dead instead of him!” 

What a stupid little drama queen! It was amazing that anyone as sheltered and naïve as Justin had even made it past the first day, much less to the third. The boy was quite simply a waste of oxygen. 

He waited with barely concealed impatience for Justin to finish crying, trying to think of some appropriate words of comfort. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” Kenny assured him when the waterworks petered out, inching forward to lay a hand on his shoulder. “You did what you had to do.” 

Justin stared back at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“I should never have had to do that; none of us should!” he asserted forcefully. “I’m responsible for what I did; but it’s Archon who’s responsible for putting us all in this situation. He’s the one who really deserves to die!” 

If asked earlier, Kenny would have bet that he would never see Justin display real hate, true murderous fury. 

He would have lost.

It looked like the little boy was finally starting to grow up. Which made it all the more imperative that Kenny finish him off today. 

“So are you still feeling sick and weak?” Kenny questioned, not quite hopefully, as he withdrew his hand. 

“No,” Justin answered. “After I . . . killed him, most of it went away. All that’s left is the headache and nausea that I had before I met him.” 

Damn.

“It must have been one of his spells, something to threaten the health of the target. I saw where he left his book when I started walking away. I took it away from him yesterday, but I didn’t do anything more than that. Now that he was . . . was dead, I didn’t want to just leave it there, and I read a little of it.” 

“What did you find out?” 

The teenager’s features twisted in clear disgust. 

“Nothing I want to repeat. It was horrible! It was evil. I don’t understand how he could think that way, how he could worship-,” Justin broke off. 

“I made sure no one would be able to use that book again. I’d have burned it if I could have started a fire, but I did a pretty good job on it anyway,” he commented absently. 

Then he focused on Kenny again. 

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped all of this on you,” he admitted to the blond. “I’m the one who has to deal with what I did, not you.”

“It’s okay,” Kenny answered.

Justin nodded gratefully and grabbed his helmet. Then he paused, a look of embarrassment flitting across his face. 

“Do you have any more water? I used up all of mine.”   
Reaching into his backpack Kenny got out a second water bottle and leaned over to hand it to Justin. 

“Thanks,” Justin said as he took the bottle from Kenny’s right hand. 

Instead of unscrewing the cap, however, he stared at Kenny’s hand, a quizzical look on his face. 

“Is that blood?” he asked disbelievingly, pointing with his left hand at two brownish dots on Kenny’s right hand. Two drops of blood which had landed there when he had killed the super-strong boy. 

In spite of his best effort to control himself Kenny’s hands shook slightly as he picked up his own water bottle and uncapped it again. 

“Kenny, is that blood?” Justin asked again, more insistently this time. 

Kenny’s answer was to swing the bottle in Justin’s direction and splash water directly into his eyes. 

Justin shrieked as his hands instinctively came up to shield his face, his eyelids blinking madly in an attempt to flush away the liquid and regain his vision. 

Kenny dropped the water bottle and took out his sword as the temporarily blinded teenager rose up. He bolted to his own feet, the sword going back in preparation for his decapitation swing. He could do this if only he was fast enough, he could kill Justin face-to-face while the other boy was still vulnerable, still blinded!

Even as these thoughts flashed through Kenny’s mind Justin acted. He kicked out with his right leg, striking directly in front of him. It was literally a shot in the dark, since Justin still couldn’t see, but he could hear and anticipate. 

His boot caught Kenny in the stomach. It hit like a hammer blow, knocking the wind from him and knocking him backward. Kenny wheezed, trying to draw in air as he struggled up again. Meanwhile Justin had snatched the Turbo Blade from where it lay on the mountain and stepped back into a defensive position, his left hand still rubbing the last of the water from his eyes. 

Kenny faced him down for an instant, fuming in frustration; then the Immortal turned and ran. Admittedly, he wasn’t in the best of shape for a race. He still couldn’t seem to fully catch his breath, he needed more time to rest his legs, and his stomach ached, but he figured surprise at his action would give him at least a few extra seconds head start. 

Behind him Justin yelled for him to stop, an instruction he ignored. Small though his chances of escaping might be they were much better than his chances of confronting and defeating the Ranger in open combat.

A quick glance over his shoulder showed Justin pursuing him, helmet off and sword out. Ahead of him-was someone else?!? 

A few hundred feet away and closing was the vampire he had fought at the oasis, the one Justin had belatedly identified this morning. 

He was caught between a rock and a hard place. 

His pace slowed unconsciously and the next thing he knew something thin and metallic smacked him hard on the right side of the face. Losing his footing he tumbled forward and narrowly avoided opening his forehead on his own sword. He landed badly on his left wrist and thought he might have sprained it. 

He rolled over to see Justin looming above him, panting with exertion and glaring down at him. The Ranger struck again with his sword, smashing the fingers Kenny’s right hand with the flat of the blade. With a yelp Kenny instinctively released his own sword, which hit the mountainside with a clang.

“Don’t move,” Justin ordered darkly, leveling the tip of his weapon at Kenny’s chest. 

“I won’t,” Kenny assured him. “But how are you going to stop the vampire?” 

He pointed with his right hand in the direction he’d been going. Justin’s suspicion was evident, but he risked a quick glance upward and his brown eyes widened. 

“You can’t keep me pinned and fight him at the same time,” Kenny warned, a note of smugness leaking into his tone. 

Justin’s gaze flicked again between Kenny and the presumably still approaching vampire. His uncertainty and apprehension seemed to be warring with his fury. Nonetheless his weapon didn’t waver. 

“Do you want us both to die?” Kenny demanded. 

“You tried to kill me!” Justin yelled back. 

“So are you going to kill me, then? Murder me in cold blood?” 

The accusation was his best shot, and he knew it had hit home when the Turbo Blade dipped down slightly before quickly returning to its previous position. 

Justin shifted around to where Kenny’s sword lay and without looking kicked it further down the mountain. Then he raised his own weapon and took several paces down the slope, standing over Kenny’s blade.

“Come anywhere near me,” he threatened, “and I will attack you.”

Kenny rose again and put Justin between himself and the oncoming vampire, who was now only about ten feet away. The bloodsucker was approaching cautiously, his gaze shifting between Justin and Kenny. In his right hand was a wavy-bladed dagger and as Kenny watched he transferred it to his left hand. Then his facial features flowed into the nightmare Kenny had seen once before. 

Justin kept most of his attention focused on the vampire, but turned to face up toward the peak, a position from which he could keep both the vampire and Kenny within his field of vision. 

Kenny responded by slipping further down the mountain and out of Justin’s view, gaining a furious look from the latter as he moved down the slope. While his attention was diverted the vampire’s right hand reached into his pocket and pulled out a small rock, which he immediately hurled at Justin. 

It caught him above the left ear and the brown-haired teenager fell with a cry.

Kenny and the vampire moved as one, both racing toward Justin. Kenny got there first and snatched up his sword, great relief sweeping through him at being armed again. The vampire arrived an instant later and the two faced each other in a frozen tableau over Justin’s body. 

In that split second either one could have slain the stunned Ranger; a single sword slash or dagger thrust would have done the job. Yet neither of them struck, because making such an assault would have completely exposed the attacker to the weapon of the third person present.

 

Kenny might have taken the chance regardless, had he been facing anyone other the bloodsucker. The vampire, however, was the only contestant left who knew he had come back to life before; he could not risk dying at the creature’s hands.

They seemed to face each other like that for an eternity, each on the defensive, yet also ready to attack as soon as an opening presented itself.

Then Justin swept out with his right leg, toppling the vampire and kicking the child of the night viciously in the side of the head as soon as the latter hit the mountainside. At least Kenny thought that was what had happened. It was hard to be sure, because at the same time Justin swept his Turbo Blade back and stabbed Kenny deeply, just above the right knee. 

Kenny screamed as his leg folded under him. He toppled over onto his right side, trapping his sword beneath his body. Justin was up and gone by the time he could painfully drag himself into a sitting position. In the process he forgot about his sprained left wrist and nearly screamed again when he mistakenly tried to put his weight on it. 

He squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt to stem his flow of tears. Oh, Justin was going to pay for this! Thankfully the Ranger seemed to have missed the femoral artery, so he wouldn’t have to worry about bleeding out. 

That fact took on new importance when the vampire rose up, apparently having recovered from Justin’s attack. Those dark, dead eyes focused first on Kenny, before looking past him and further down the slope. That must be the direction in which Justin had fled. 

Then the eyes returned to Kenny, and he could actually see the cold calculation in them. Unable to stand, he brandished his sword threateningly. The vampire backed off a bit . . . then reached down and picked up the rock it had thrown at Justin. 

Kenny’s blood ran cold in his veins at the sight. He knew what came next. 

“Wait, you don’t want to do this. We can help each other!” he offered. 

“I don’t need your help,” the vampire replied. The sound of his voice shook Kenny; it was clearly unnatural, with an unsettling reverberation. 

“Then why was I able to take my sword back from you at the oasis? Why weren’t you able to kill Justin just now? Why do you need to rely on rocks and knives as weapons?” Kenny asked quickly.

The vampire wound up to throw the stone. 

“You’ll never kill Justin alone!” Kenny insisted. “He’s a black belt in karate, he’s spent a year fighting monsters and he’ll be ready for your rock-throwing now. If you go after him by yourself he will kill you. The only way we have a chance against him is to hunt him down together.”

The creature regarded Kenny thoughtfully.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he observed, gesturing at Kenny’s leg and raising the rock again. 

“It will heal!” Kenny explained, wincing inwardly as he did so. The last thing he wanted to give more information about his abilities to the vampire, but it didn’t look like he had a choice. “Just give me a couple minutes and it’ll be good as new.”

“Why should I trust you to come with me?” the vampire demanded. “Weren’t you Justin’s ally too?”

“He thought I was. He also thought we should refuse to kill each other and dare Archon to do his worst to us. You walked out on him when he said that on the first day; I stayed because I thought I could use him.”

“And now you’re trying to use me,” the vampire concluded with tight-lipped anger. 

“I’m trying to help both of us!” Kenny insisted. “You know you can’t take most of these kids in a straight-up fight. If you could you wouldn’t have bothered setting up that ambush at the oasis, and you wouldn’t need to collect stones to use as weapons.”

“We’re both in the same boat. The only edge we have over the others is that we’re smarter than they are. Yeah, one of us could kill the other right now, but how would that help against the bigger threats out there? If we work together, though, our odds get a lot better.” 

“Except that there can be only one winner,” the vampire noted. 

It was almost like talking to himself, Kenny admitted reluctantly. 

“So in the end one of us will have to kill the other. We both know that, but if we don’t team up now I doubt either of us will make it to the end. As long as there are other contestants alive, we’ve got more to gain by cooperating with each other than by fighting.”

Slowly the undead child nodded his agreement and Kenny had to suppress a sigh of relief. He’d thought this was similar enough to the Kincaid situation for his offer to be accepted. There the adult Immortal who’d been hunting him had been more interested in getting revenge on MacLeod than in taking Kenny’s head, so he’d been able to ally with the seaman for that purpose. Here the vampire was more interested in making it to the end of the tournament than in eliminating Kenny, so once again a temporary alliance was possible, with gain for both sides. 

Of course he’d always intended to finish off Kincaid while the fool was still weak from MacLeod’s Quickening. With the vampire it would probably be best not to wait til the end to try to take him. Maybe he could do the job while they were fighting the final contestant; the bloodsucker wouldn’t be expecting it then. 

When his wound had fully healed Kenny stood, his sword held down at his side. 

“Let’s go get Justin,” he urged with a grin. 

The vampire pointed in the direction Justin had apparently gone. 

“You go first,” he said, and it was clear that this wasn’t a request; it was a statement of how things would be. 

Kenny’s grin quickly faded as he set off in the lead. This vampire truly was like him. 

And that was what worried him. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

At his slow pace Alexander thought that the day might end before he encountered any of his competitors. The sight of a crumpled body ahead proved him wrong.

It was the girl. Looking around further Alexander spotted the ninja sitting on an outcropping of rock. He moved up the slope and the human watched him, those dark eyes revealing nothing. 

Alexander’s stomach was heaving again, but it had long since emptied itself. He moved onto the rock outcropping, his bat’leth facing forward and just below his chin. Immediately the human’s right hand whipped toward him, releasing a spinning metal object. 

Alexander had expected this and moved even as the ninja did, turning his crescent-shaped weapon upward and using it to shield his face. The thrown object skipped off the blade and Alexander charged forward with a roar, desperately trying to keep his balance amid his unending dizziness. Another thrown weapon embedded itself in his leather vest, directly over his heart, though the point was too short to reach his skin. 

A third hit the middle finger on his left hand, causing him to half-drop the bat’leth and stopping his advance. Recognizing his newfound vulnerability he ducked, but not quickly enough as a fourth spinning weapon struck him on his uppermost forehead ridge, cutting open the flesh to expose the bone.

As his own blood flowed down his face Alexander saw his enemy coming toward him in a kind of lurching run, blade in hand; if not for the wound Justin had inflicted on his foot the ninja would be upon him already. 

Alexander remembered how good Justin had said this human was with a sword. And he was wounded in two places, with blood obscuring his vision and his left hand impaired, in addition to his dizziness and dry heaves. He had to end this fight quickly. 

Dropping his bat’leth and drawing his d’k tahg Alexander flung the dagger underhanded. It flew straight and true, directly into his surprised enemy’s chest. 

The ninja fell to his knees as Alexander rose unsteadily to his feet, picking up his bat’leth with a grimace of pain before striding forward and decapitating his enemy. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Justin didn’t know how long it had been since his confrontation with Kenny and the vampire. He did know that the blood had stopped seeping from his head wound, although the continued throbbing from the stone’s impact had joined the pain of his headache. 

A while ago he’d stopped to demorph and then remorphed, thus regaining his helmet. Too late, though, much too late. 

What was that new Nintendo 64 game he’d wanted? It had been coming out next month, right? 

He kept himself moving, but he wasn’t going nearly as fast as he would have liked. He was more jogging than running and he kept slipping. 

He would have liked to have seen Dad again. Just one more time would have been nice. 

He was moving down near the edge of the cliff now. There was still no one in sight. 

Did he have a concussion? Was that why it was so hard for him to think? 

It was good that he’d become the Blue Turbo Ranger. Blue was a much cooler color than green or yellow or pink. It was most people’s favorite color! 

How much time was left before this nightmare ended for the day? It had to be almost five by now. 

Why hadn’t any of the guys contacted him? It had been months since Storm Blaster had brought him in to save them. They could have called, sent a letter, done something! They had to know how much he missed them, how lonely he was. 

He couldn’t keep going anymore. He was too tired, he had to stop. He collapsed onto the mountainside, panting. There was still no one ahead of him. He looked behind him and saw Kenny and the vampire coming up fast. 

Was he hallucinating now too? He’d stabbed Kenny right in the leg! He’d felt the blade pierce the boy’s flesh!

Just like with Morthos. Remember that, feeling your sword and then his dagger cut into his flesh? Remember the blood you got on your clean white gloves, his blood? Again? Remember how you washed it off with some water from one of your water bottles? 

Justin stared down at his right glove. He did remember washing the blood off, but his glove was still flecked with reddish-brown spots. How could that be? 

It was because he’d stabbed Kenny, he had, so why was Kenny up and running? Had he been made into a vampire too?

They were close now, not chasing each other, but coming together, coming for him. Kenny, someone he had tried to protect, was coming to kill him. 

His legs trembled as Justin got up, took up his sword and moved to within a foot of the edge. They had slowed down and were approaching more carefully. They stopped about eight feet away and then Kenny swung around to flank him. Soon he had his back to the edge, the vampire about eight feet to his left and Kenny about eight feet to his right, both of them grinning. 

“Whoever I can’t kill with my sword is going over the edge with me,” Justin warned. 

That at least wiped the smiles from their faces. They exchanged glances and the vampire pulled a stone from his pocket. His mind was starting to wander again, and he couldn’t let it, not now, not here, he had to concentrate, he had do something . . . 

The impact of the stone on his helmet actually seemed to help focus his thoughts. As the vampire pulled out a second stone Justin turned and ran at him. 

He could see the surprise in those inhuman features and he was glad, because his legs were screaming and it was more of a clumsy rush than a controlled sprint. The stone hit his chest and bounced off, and then the vampire’s left hand was coming up, raising a kris dagger, the same one he’d used to kill Morthos, it must be, and its wicked tip was gleaming in the sun.

With a scream Justin brought his Turbo Blade down toward that dagger like an axe and chopped off the hand holding it. 

Now the vampire was screaming too, clutching at his spurting stump and crumpling to the mountainside, they were both screaming, and there was something he had to do, someone he had to stop, and he spun around, his Turbo Blade out, and it struck Kenny’s sword with such force that sparks flew. 

And what would have happened next will never be known, for at that instant it hit five o’clock and all four of the contestants remaining in the Battlefield were teleported back to the dining hall.

ΩΩΩΩΩ


	7. The Third Night

There were only three other people present. That was the first thing which struck Alexander when he appeared in the dining hall. He and the others all stood around a single table with four chairs, placed in the center of the room 

To his right was the vampire, crying and holding his left sleeve closed. Given the amount of blood which appeared to be seeping through the cloth, Alexander could only assume that the boy’s hand had been severed. It was a crippling injury, and one which might well seal the creature’s fate regardless of its other abilities. 

To his left was Kenny, wearing his backpack and looking none the worse for wear. This came as something of a shock to Alexander, since he hadn’t expected Kenny or Solan to last out the day. Given their lack of any real combat skills they’d been fortunate to live through the first day, let alone the second.

Also unexpected was the expression on Kenny’s face, which seemed to be one of angry frustration. Shouldn’t the human be relieved that he had once again survived unscathed?

Across from him Justin stumbled forward and fell against the table. The Ranger pushed himself up with a visible effort and Alexander noticed a disturbing dullness in the teenager’s eyes. Justin’s entire face was slack, either with exhaustion or something else, and on his left temple was a blood-encrusted bump which looked markedly more serious than Alexander’s own head wound. 

The boy’s gaze swept from one side to the other, taking in everyone present. He let out a sob and pulled the chair before him out from the table, half sitting and half collapsing on it. He raised his head to stare directly at Alexander, and spoke. 

“Kenny is a traitor; he killed someone today and then he tried to kill me.” 

Kenny?!? He turned toward the human incredulously and Kenny responded with an open sneer. He had dismissed Kenny along with Solan as a useless weakling, blithely assuming that the human was telling the truth. He had been tricked. He’d been lied to by a cowardly, dishonorable human and he had believed those lies! With a snarl he stepped toward Kenny, whose sneer only widened. 

“Neutral ground, alien! You can’t touch me!” the blond boy taunted.

With an effort Alexander restrained himself. The traitor was right. He would not suffer the futile humiliation of trying to take his vengeance now, not when he knew Archon would stop him. Tomorrow, however . . . 

“Tomorrow I will cut you apart like a targ!” he promised, and was pleased to see Kenny’s sneer vanish. The human turned away and walked past Justin to the replicator. Alexander sat, not yet certain he would be able to keep anything he consumed down. The vampire was still engaged in binding his wound as best he could, while Justin was slumped forward across the table, his hands covering his face. 

Kenny was the only one who ate, and once his meal was finished he quickly left the dining hall. The vampire had departed almost immediately after downing a large mug of blood, so he and Justin were alone. 

The Ranger had barely moved from his previous position and Alexander wondered what damage the head injury might have done.

“Justin?” he said questioningly. He repeated the human’s name more forcefully and the covering hands slipped away. Justin looked at him with open despair, as if nothing mattered anymore. 

“What happened to you today?” he asked. For a moment he thought Justin would refuse to tell him. Then the adolescent took a deep, shuddering breath and began to speak. In a flat monotone he related the encounters with Morthos, with Kenny, and with the vampire. He mentioned only the bare facts, including nothing else in his delivery; it was a bit like hearing a computer speak. 

As he listened Alexander experienced a number of emotions. Relief that his illness had been a temporary condition brought on by the altitude; surprise and pleasure that Justin had finally killed one of their enemies; exasperation that the Ranger had felt the need to talk to Kenny about it, as though he were confessing a wrong-doing; anger at Kenny’s cowardly treachery; sheer disbelief that Justin should be stupid enough to then release Kenny instead of running him through; and reluctant admiration at how Justin had managed to survive the efforts of the traitor and the vampire, crippling the latter in the process. 

Justin’s last words faded away into silence and Alexander sat quietly, absorbing what he had been told. Only one question remained to be answered. 

“So why are you sitting here in grief?”

Justin’s jaw dropped open and with widened eyes he stared at Alexander in apparent wonder. His mouth worked soundlessly for a few seconds before he spoke at an unnecessarily high volume.

“How can you ask that? Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said?!?”

“I heard everything you said,” Alexander confirmed with some annoyance. “I heard nothing to explain why you sulk here in misery.” 

“Kenny was just using us! Solan is dead! And I killed someone! I shoved a dagger through his heart! And when he died I wasn’t even sorry; I was glad!”

“Kenny will pay for his treachery, Solan was always going to die here, and killing is a natural action for a warrior!” Alexander all but shouted. “By Kahless’ sword! Did you feel this guilty over the monsters you slew? The Peranatrons you killed?”

“Piranahatrons,” Justin corrected. “No, but that was different!”

“How was it different?” Alexander demanded. 

“They were evil!” 

“And Morthos wasn’t?”

“They weren’t human!” Justin insisted emphatically. 

The two boys stared at each other in silence for a handful of heartbeats and Alexander felt his face flush with his growing anger. He rose to his feet and leaned over the table toward Justin. His voice was soft now, but with a honed, lethal edge to it. 

“So you can only kill those not of your race? Humans never kill each other?”

Justin tried to say something, but Alexander raised his voice and talked over the Ranger. 

“Open your eyes and see how humans have acted! How many humans have tried to kill you here? Kenny’s deception, his cowardice, his dishonor . . . THAT is humanity!”

“That’s not true!” Justin swore, jumping up and facing Alexander. “We’re not like that!”

“You’re just too blind to see it, you fool!” Alexander asserted contemptuously. 

“If you were right you wouldn’t even be here! I’d have killed you after I knocked you out!”

Alexander barely stopped himself from trying to crash a fist into the human’s face. He glared at Justin furiously before whirling and storming out of the dining hall.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

If he were a human he was sure he would have died by now. The blood loss or the shock of his injury would have finished him. As a vampire he was able to survive, but even with the much less active nerve endings of the undead the pain he felt was like nothing he had ever experienced before. 

With much effort he had managed to tie off the stump with one of the light summer shirts he had found in the bureau of his room. The makeshift bandage was soaked with his blood and looking at it seemed to make his suffering worse. 

He had been maimed! He would never be whole again, not as he had been. How could something like this have happened to him?

Again and again, in anguished incredulity, his mind turned to horrified contemplation of his injury. On the few occasions when he was able to think of something else he mainly considered Kenny. Sparing his life had been the right thing to do; they did need to work together if they were going to have any chance of surviving, especially now. Of course Kenny would turn on him eventually; maybe after they killed the last competitor, maybe even before that. All he could do was stay alert and cautious, and try to betray Kenny first.

The blond boy had been genuinely afraid when Colin was about to kill him earlier today, so there had to be some limits to his ability to heal. The next time he killed Kenny Colin would use the child’s own sword to cut him into as many pieces as possible. Such damage would hopefully overwhelm Kenny’s regenerative powers.

In a few of his more lucid moments he worried that he was repeating the same mistake he had made with Spike, relying on a traitorous ally to help him deal with an enemy. That was the course of action which had almost gotten him killed before. Under these circumstances, though, what else could he do?

ΩΩΩΩΩ

By the time Kenny got back to his room he was seething with unbridled rage. He had been so CLOSE! If only they could have killed Justin his position would be near to perfect; he would have Alexander as an unsuspecting dupe and Colin to help take down Alexander. He could see numerous ways such a scenario could end in him being the last survivor, the winner of the tournament.

Instead Justin had managed to stay alive and had warned the alien almost as soon as they reappeared. Everything had fallen apart in that instant. How was he supposed to kill the two of them now, when they knew he was after their heads? 

He had managed to slay enemies through stealth alone in the past, like Dalman Ross and the super-boy, but going that route was always a risky last resort. If you got caught sneaking up behind a known foe you would be forced to face him head-on and given Kenny’s physical limitations that was practically suicide. 

Obviously there was no chance of taking Justin or Alexander if they saw him coming. He was neither a swordsman nor a fighter, while they were both. He would have to run, and he had seen today that he couldn’t outrun Justin. Could he outdistance Alexander? Maybe, with all that heavy leather armor the alien wore, but he wouldn’t bet on it.

And when they did catch him? Surely even Justin would see reason and kill him now, and Alexander definitely would. If they beheaded him, it was all over. If not, there was a chance he could catch them by surprise later, assuming they weren’t around to see him return to life. 

Wait, though, Justin had seen him up and walking around after receiving the sword wound. Justin would know he had some kind of healing power and he would share that information with Alexander. Armed with that knowledge, why wouldn’t they decapitate him, to be safe?  
With a scream Kenny seized his mauve pillow from the bed and hurled it across the room. He pounded furiously at the mattress, taking out all of his fury and frustration and terror on the inanimate object. He continued with his tantrum until he’d utterly exhausted himself and lay panting on top of his bed. 

He would not die here, at the hands of mortal children. HE WOULD NOT! He had survived the Game alone for over eight centuries; somehow he would find a way to win here as well.

He still had his alliance with Colin. There was no doubt that his vampiric ally was a double-edged sword, but he had known and accepted that from the moment he had proposed their partnership. The creature’s loss of a hand would impair its effectiveness, but would probably also make it feel more vulnerable and thus slower to turn on him. 

Could the two of them together kill Justin or Alexander in a fight? Maybe, but again he doubted it. Even wounded and whipsawed between them Justin had still managed to come out on top-twice! The next time . . . the next time they would have to both come at him at once. 

Kenny closed his eyes and felt sick when he considered how dangerous that idea was, how risky. After having spent so long avoiding risk he could barely believe what he was contemplating. Yet if today had shown him anything it was that he could not afford to let his enemies seize the initiative. Every time he had given Justin time to think and react the Ranger had beaten him. So instead of delaying they needed to charge their foe from two directions at once, in the hopes that he would neither be able to deal with them both nor be able to kill either of them. 

It was an extremely hazardous plan, though not as suicidal as it might have seemed at first blush. Immortals and vampires were much harder to kill than normal humans; they could take what would be mortal blows to ordinary people and still survive. He was relying heavily on their unnatural fortitude, perhaps too heavily, but he couldn’t think of anything better. In a straight-up fight this tactic would probably be their sole hope of winning. 

Which meant he had to do everything he could to avoid a straight-up fight, but he’d known that from the very day he had become an Immortal.

Even after so many hundreds of years the occurrence of his epiphany remained as vivid and sharp in his memory as ever. The moment he had realized that he simply could not compete in the Game, that his unchanging child’s body would never be big or strong enough to allow him to successfully duel adults. 

In his despair he had blurted out the truth to Amanda, mourning that he would never be able to use a weapon and was going to die. She had reassured him that he did have a weapon: his innocence. 

He had taken those words to heart more than any others which had ever been spoken to him, before or since. After they’d become separated he had used his innocence to win charity from travelers he met on the road, often gaining food and sometimes coins from his begging. Then he had met Frederick Holt of Saxony, another Immortal. 

A big, hardy man with red hair and a red beard, Frederick had lulled his suspicions by approaching him peacefully and promising to take care of him. He welcomed Kenny into his home and had a bedroom prepared at once. That evening Kenny had eaten better than he had in months, while Frederick entertained him with tales of adventure. He had retired to his soft bed in a glow of foolish happiness, overjoyed to have found a new mentor. 

His gluttony at dinner, however, led to the most painful stomach-ache he had ever endured. He had thrashed on the mattress for hours, trying in vain to get to sleep. It had been past midnight when his door had opened and he had seen Frederick creep quietly in, sword in hand. 

Through his shocked horror Kenny had retained just enough of his wits to pretend to be sleeping. He had lain there, unmoving, for what seemed like years of agonized anticipation as Frederick approached his bed. Every instinct had screamed at him to MOVE, to run or fight, but he remained still. He waited until he could feel Frederick looming over him and smell the sour odor of the man’s sweat. Then he had acted, opening his eyes and driving his fist into Frederick’s groin with all the force he could muster. 

It still wasn’t a powerful punch, but hitting at that point it didn’t have to be. Frederick had let go of the sword he had raised back over his head and it had clattered to the floor as the wheezing man doubled over and clutched at himself.

Kenny had leapt from his bed and seized the metal chamber pot, which he had then smashed into Frederick’s skull. The treacherous Immortal had dropped to the floor like a stone, out cold, and Kenny had made sure he would never awaken. Wholly unused to using a sword, it had taken him five tries to completely sever Frederick’s head from his body. Once he had he experienced for the first time the mixture of agony and ecstasy which was a Quickening. 

It had left him so weakened that he hadn’t been able to escape the now-alight house before catching fire and burning to death. To this day his burning remained the greatest agony he had ever felt, though his recollection of it was cloudy. He probably could not have remembered the experience clearly and remained sane. 

He had healed and revived before he was buried and had managed to escape without being seen. Naked, without a single possession, he had run off into the woods. 

Although his body would never mature, that was the night he had grown up and become an adult. He had stopped looking for someone else to take care of him and had realized that he needed to take care of himself. He had accepted that his life would be hard and unpleasant, that survival and not comfort was the most he could hope to achieve. And he had at last understood the basic, fundamental truth that to be an Immortal was to seek to win the Game. That was the only thing which truly mattered: being the last one left, the recipient of the Prize. Whatever interfered with the pursuit of that overriding goal had to be cast aside and abandoned. Anyone who tried to argue otherwise was at best a self-deceiving fool and at worst a liar.

It was the former which he’d made a career out of preying on: naïve idiots who couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that Immortals were all natural and eternal enemies of each other. In the end there could be only one. How much clearer and more simply could it be put? 

In that respect and most others Archon’s tournament was actually no different from the end phase of the Game; it was like the Gathering in microcosm. That was undoubtedly one reason he had done so well up until this point. With his greatest weapon lost to him, however, his prospects for tomorrow were bleak. 

Even if he did make it out alive, he’d be going right back to the Game. That hadn’t bothered him a few days ago. On the contrary, then he’d been longing to be back on Earth looking for empty heads to take. He hadn’t yet thought about where that would eventually lead him. For almost his entire existence he’d been focusing on staying alive one day at a time. Not once had he troubled himself to look down to the end of the road. Why should he, when it was so unlikely he would ever reach it?

Now he did think about the final days of the Game. His current situation seemed to offer a horrifyingly clear portrait of what that time would be like. There were only four of them left here and everyone was desperate to survive, dispensing with any previous reservations in order to kill whoever they needed to. When there were only a handful of Immortals left worldwide, the same thing would happen. None of them would be able to continue indulging in the wishful fantasy that their existence would continue forever. All would be forced to confront the brutal reality that this was it: the time had come to kill or be killed. In such an atmosphere even pious, self-righteous hypocrites like MacLeod would be forced to at last abandon their pretenses and act in their own interests. 

What would he do then? When the sentimentality and stupidity he so relied upon were gone? When every Immortal left was ready to immediately kill any other Immortal he or she encountered? What would he do? 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

The throbbing pain in the side of his head had eventually subsided to a dull albeit persistent ache. The shuriken wounds in his torso and shoulder were hurting him less than they had yesterday. His inability to focus, to keep his thoughts on a single subject, had for the most part abated. He was not thankful for this; on the contrary, being able to think clearly only let him more fully reflect on the magnitude of his own errors. 

Since the first evening of this hellish contest he had committed himself to protecting his new friends, to saving as many lives as possible, and to ending the fighting without any further bloodshed. At all three of those tasks he had failed.

His friends were dead. He hadn’t been there to protect them, and he might even have helped get them killed. Wasn’t he the one who had urged everyone in his group not to kill, no matter what? Had that restraint played a part in Jo and Josh’s deaths? If he’d told them to defend themselves at all costs, would they still be here now?

Then there was his refusal to teach karate to Solan, the most vulnerable one among them and his first new friend in over a year. All of his reasons for saying no had seemed good and logical at the time. Now, though, the possibility that he might have taught the Grecian boy something which would have made a difference gnawed mercilessly at him.

The only other member of his original group who hadn’t died was Kenny, but then Kenny was no friend. The angelic-looking blond had been using them, and he had never once suspected it! He had put the other boy’s surliness down to sublimated fear arising from their grim circumstances. Instead it had probably been ill-disguised hostility, which he had misinterpreted. It was another mistake on his part, and again one which might have ended up killing one or more of his friends. All three days Kenny had claimed to have met no one, yet there had been blood on his hand today. Who did it belong to, and whose blood had Kenny shed on the previous days? 

Lastly there was Alexander, about whom he didn’t know what to think, especially given what had happened earlier. That, too, was his fault. 

Last night after dinner Justin had gotten a rough idea of the kind of racial and warrior pride Alexander possessed. He had realized then that it would be a bad idea to ever remind Alexander of how he had beaten the alien teen in combat. Yet today he had thrown that defeat in Alexander’s face, and why? Because he couldn’t stand listening to what the other boy was saying. 

It had all been so simple when he first became a Turbo Ranger, so black and white. The aliens were the bad guys and the humans were the good guys. He had killed countless attacking monsters and Piranhatrons and had never once felt so much as a twinge of remorse; he had never experienced the slightest doubt as to the rightness of his actions. He and the rest of the team were fighting the good fight, doing their duty as Power Rangers by defending the innocent people of Angel Grove from Divatox and her minions. 

Then he had been brought here, and it had seemed obvious to him that Archon was the real enemy. He was the one who had saved their lives only to kidnap them and force them to try to kill each other. Justin and the other contestants were Archon’s innocent victims, and they obviously needed to band together to defy him. 

Justin had believed wholeheartedly that he could forge the contestants into a united front, that even those kids who were misguided enough to want to follow Archon’s sick instructions could be persuaded otherwise. He had based his every action on that belief, and he had steadfastly ignored the mounting evidence to the contrary.

In spite of his one hundred and sixty I.Q., he had been completely unable to wrap his mind around the concept that a majority of the other contestants might never join him, no matter what he did. That they might be determined to get through this ordeal by being the last one standing, just as Archon wished. He had placed his species up on a pedestal, exactly as Alexander had accused him of doing. He had put his faith in the fundamental goodness of humanity.

He had been wrong. Wrong to place such faith in his own species, wrong to believe he could bring the contestants together. He couldn’t; too many of the other contestants were committed to surviving by killing everyone else. He could no longer deny that fact, yet he still struggled in vain to understand it. How could they be so willing to murder other kids at Archon’s command?

Not that his own hands were clean, not anymore. He had killed a human being today and he hadn’t even felt bad about it! So how much actual distance was there between him and the others? 

These thoughts went through Justin’s head as he sat silently at the dining hall’s sole table. He hadn’t left his seat since taking it after being transported back here. With everything having collapsed around him-his friend’s lives, his plan to save the contestants, one of his foundational beliefs about mankind- he could muster neither the will or the energy to move. It was almost as if his grief and despair were physically weighing him down, keeping him pinned to his chair.

When the door opened Justin flinched violently and immediately looked up. Alexander stood in the doorway, seeming equally surprised to see him in the room. Justin realized that the tear tracks from his weeping were still visible on his face, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. It didn’t matter now; there was no one left that he needed to stay strong for. 

Alexander scowled at him as the Klingon moved to the replicator. He barked out his order and soon reappeared in Justin’s line of sight carrying his plate and his cup. The alien put his food and drink down on the table, pulling out the chair across from Justin and sitting down. He was glaring and opening his mouth to say something when Justin spoke first. 

“I’m sorry about before,” he apologized. And he was sorry. He had deliberately sought to hurt Alexander earlier, and the alien didn’t deserve that. Admittedly repenting of this mistake seemed like an almost meaningless gesture given the scale of the wrongs which had been committed over these past few days. Nonetheless it was something good which he had the power to do, and given the paucity of good he had accomplished, that alone made the apology worthwhile. 

It seemed to catch Alexander flat-footed, and the alien actually gaped at him before regaining control. 

“Have you finally come to realize the true role of a warrior, then?”

“I thought it was to defend the innocent, but everyone I’ve tried to defend here has died. I failed them, and I failed to get anyone else to oppose Archon, except you.”

“Because everyone else lacked honor!” Alexander insisted hotly. “Honor is what drives a true warrior: his personal honor, the honor of his House, and the honor of the Empire. He fights to uphold all three, and he will die before disgracing them.”

Honor. Alexander spoke the word as if it was the most important thing in the world, as if it explained everything and answered every question. Maybe to him it did. 

But not to Justin. 

“You have always spoken of death as though it was the worst of all things, something to be avoided at any cost. Klingons know that death cannot be avoided. It comes to us all, and it is by the manner of your death that you are known and remembered. One of our most ancient sayings is, ‘Today is a good day to die.’” 

To Justin, who had spent his career as a Ranger trying to keep himself alive and keep others from coming to harm, it seemed a morbid and defeatist point of view. The important thing was how much you were able to help other people while you were alive, not how you died, and to not make every effort to avoid death was to fail to sufficiently value life.

He didn’t say this to Alexander. They were simply too different in their outlooks to ever agree, and he no longer had the confidence necessary to espouse and promote his own beliefs. Not after seeing how blind he had been, how stupid. In his heart he now had to question so much of what he had thought and believed to be true. How then could he argue with Alexander? 

“What are you going to do tomorrow?” he asked instead. 

“What will you do tomorrow?” Alexander inquired, turning the question back on him. “Will you kill those who seek your death? Or do you still hope to turn them from their path?”

Justin closed his eyes. He had no hope for the vampire or for whatever Kenny was, not anymore. They wouldn’t stop until he was dead. If he didn’t kill them, they would kill him. 

The thought actually held a certain dark appeal for the teenager. Why should he get to survive, when everyone else had died under his leadership? Going through the rest of his life having to remember those he’d failed to save was a burden he wasn’t sure he could shoulder in any case. If it ended here, though, he wouldn’t have to. The misery, the guilt, he would be free of it all. To simply give up was tempting, moreso than he could ever have understood a mere three days ago. 

It was also selfish. It would leave Alexander standing alone against two killers. It would mean inflicting another loss on Dad, on top of Mom’s death. It would mean betraying the oath he’d taken before Zordon when he had first become a Ranger. He had failed horribly in his duties already, and he could not compound that with a final, deliberate failure. 

Maybe Alexander had a point about how important the manner of one’s death was after all. 

If he was to live, though, Kenny and the vampire would have to die. Could he do that? Could he look them in the eye and take their lives? 

For the vampire the answer was yes. It disturbed him that the creature was in the form of a child, but killing it would really be little different from slaying one of Divatox’s monsters.

Kenny was a different story, though his amazing healing showed that he wasn’t human either. Could Justin kill him? Kill the boy who had betrayed and used him, who might have killed some of his friends?

Part of him couldn’t believe he was even asking himself the question. It would have been unthinkable to him before he had come here! What he had endured and lost in this place, what he had done, had changed him. He had already taken one life to save his own, and he was afraid that he could do it again. 

“I’m going to kill them,” Justin answered, his voice breaking in the middle. The enormity of what he was saying made him tremble, but Alexander looked surprised and pleased. 

“And when they’re dead, will you kill me?” Justin persisted. Alexander had only promised to spare those who didn’t attack him, and had only committed to that for as long as other aggressors remained. Once Kenny and the vampire were dead, there would be nothing to stop him from assaulting Justin and playing out the final act of Archon’s disgusting game.   
If he was willing to restrain himself, however, then the two of them could still defy Archon together. He didn’t know what their mysterious captor would do then, but the idea of defeating him by refusing to fight carried with it a wild, explosive thrill. Whatever happened to them next would be worth that moral victory, that moment of successful defiance. 

Alexander frowned, staring at Justin intently. The Ranger remained quiet, letting his alien ally think. He couldn’t guess what Alexander’s answer would be. Minutes passed with excruciating slowness before Alexander spoke. 

“You have seen me turn away from the table to eat.” It was a statement, not a question, but Justin responded anyway. 

“Yes, I have.” 

Alexander nodded. “I have done that because there is another favored saying among my people, ‘Drink not with one’s enemies.’” 

Even as Justin was processing this statement Alexander lifted the hunk of meat up from his plate and tore a huge bite out of it, washing the mouthful down with whatever was in his cup. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

That night, for the first time since being brought here, Justin fell asleep almost immediately. Partly it was due to how very tired he was, in all senses of the word. It was also because much of the stress and worry which had kept him awake on prior nights was gone. 

The reason for this was that Justin’s greatest fears had already come to pass. Aside from the loss of his own life everything he was afraid of had occurred. The worst had happened, and nothing the future held could possibly be as terrible as what he had already suffered. 

Or so Justin believed.

ΩΩΩΩΩ


	8. The Fourth Day, Part One

Alexander awoke in a state of unaccustomed doubt and uncertainty. As he completed his morning rituals he couldn’t help questioning the decision he had made last night. Was he doing the right thing in committing himself to sparing Justin? 

The human had previously defeated him in combat. That was a wound which cried out for bloody redress, and Alexander was sure he would win a second confrontation. Aside from the human’s physical injuries, it seemed to Alexander that Justin had lost a warrior’s most precious possession after his honor: his fighting spirit. 

That impression was reinforced when he saw Justin in the dining hall. The human was virtually mute all through breakfast, with his eyes constantly downcast and his shoulders slumped. It was a sight which both repelled and saddened the young Klingon. It was akin to viewing a warrior who had been physically crippled and had decided to live on in shame instead of dying honorably. 

It was Justin’s loyalty to his ridiculous beliefs which had reduced him to such a state, which only proved how wrong those beliefs were in the first place. He thought he had made a breakthrough with the human yesterday, but perhaps facing the truth had been too much for the Ranger. If so there would be no real vindication in slaying him. What honor could be accrued in beating someone who had already defeated himself? 

His only other reason to strike down Justin was out of concern for his own life. Winning the tournament meant returning to Kronos, where he would be able to aid his House in the fight against the House of Duras. It was a battle he longed to join, especially since the enemy House was responsible for sending him here in the first place. Defying Archon in all probability meant death. 

Yet as Justin had pointed out, and as Alexander had come to see more and more for himself, meekly complying with their cowardly kidnapper’s orders was in itself the height of dishonor. It reduced him from being a proud Klingon warrior to being a slave doing his master’s bidding out of fear of punishment. The prospect was abhorrent to him, and would be equally so to his adopted father, Kurn. 

Kurn was the one who had raised him after his mother died. Kurn had instructed him in the Klingon way, taught him what it was to be a warrior. Kurn would want him to return-but not at the price of his honor. 

He had explained to Justin yesterday how important it was to die well. For him to choose to perish in proud defiance of a time-traveling alien who sought to break his will would be an end worthy of story and song. That no one living would ever tell or sing of it mattered not; when he arrived in Stovok-Kor they would know what he had done, and he would be greeted as a true hero in the afterlife. 

At peace now Alexander finished his breakfast, ignoring the twinges of pain which came from using his wounded finger. Across from him Justin had ceased even pretending to pick at his food, while the little vampire had downed two mugs of blood. A shirt stained red with gore was tightly tied over the stump of his left wrist. Kenny sat hunched over his half-full plate, apparently having lost his appetite. 

Their morose demeanors proved that humans lacked true understanding of the way of the warrior. In Justin’s case this was actually cause for regret. The boy was a skillful fighter and with the proper instruction would have made a fine warrior-for a human.

Alexander hoped that when the time came Justin would be able to meet Archon’s punishment with the proper stoic defiance. It would be disappointing if the Ranger lowered himself to beg for his life. He didn’t think that would be a problem, however; Justin had spent his whole time here seeking to defy Archon. He wouldn’t break at the last, especially in his current state, when his life seemed to hold little value for him. 

Alexander got up to take his day’s rations from the replicator. He made his order-and the requested food and water failed to materialize. 

“YOU WILL NOT NEED YOUR SUPPLIES YET,” Archon asserted suddenly. “TODAY YOU HAVE ANOTHER TASK TO COMPLETE BEFORE I SEND YOU TO THE BATTLEFIELD.” 

What was he talking about? What “other task”?!?! 

Behind him he could hear the humans stirring. Ahead of him the entire replicator was rising soundlessly into the ceiling, revealing a blank wall broken only by a single steel door. That door, too, rose up into the ceiling.

“GO TO THE CENTER OF THE ADJOINING ROOM AND YOUR WEAPONS WILL BE RETURNED TO YOU,” Archon promised. “YOU WILL NEED THEM FOR WHAT IS TO COME.”

For an instant Alexander thought of refusing, but he could picture no possible circumstances under which he would be better off without his weapons. He stomped angrily through the doorway, with the humans following behind him.

The room they had entered was roughly thirty feet by thirty, and completely bare, with no furniture or distinguishing marks. Snarling in frustration Alexander strode swiftly to the center of room. His bat’leth appeared in his hands and he almost dropped it in surprise. He also felt his dak’tagh appear in its sheath in his armor. 

There was a flash of light from directly behind him and he turned to see that Justin had morphed into his Ranger form, Turbo Blade in hand. Kenny stood next to the teen holding a short sword, while Colin was to his other side. Looking beyond them Alexander noted that the door through which they had entered had already closed. 

“THE FOUR OF YOU HAVE DONE WELL TO COME THIS FAR IN THE TOURNAMENT. YOU HAVE EARNED YOUR SURVIVAL UP TO THIS POINT, BUT NOW THERE IS ANOTHER INDIVIDUAL THAT I WISH TO ALLOW TO COMPETE.”

Another competitor? Now?!? It was absurd! Worse, it was unfair! Instead of being one of twenty this newcomer would be one of only five. He would also be coming in fresh and rested, without having endured the previous three days of risk and exertion. It was blatant favoritism and it tainted the whole tournament. Why on Kronos was Archon doing this? 

“SINCE HE HAS NOT COMPLETED THE FULL THREE DAYS THAT THE REST OF YOU HAVE, IT IS ONLY FAIR THAT I OFFER YOU THE OPPORTUNITY TO PREVENT HIS PARTICIPATION. IN A MOMENT HE WILL ENTER THIS ROOM, AND YOU MAY SLAY HIM IF YOU CAN. YOU MAY HARM ONLY HIM, NOT EACH OTHER. IF HE CAN OVERCOME YOUR COMBINED AGGRESSIVE EFFORTS HE WILL BE ALLOWED TO TAKE HIS PLACE IN THE CONTEST.”

That made even less sense than before! How could one contestant hope to outlast all four of them? Unless-

He glanced over to Justin, who had gone completely still. Alexander suppressed a groan of frustration. The Ranger wouldn’t be willing to go along with this. He would try to defend the new kid regardless of what the latter was like, and that would give the boy a chance to live. 

Wait, though, if they weren’t allowed to harm each other, then how could Justin possibly protect the new kid? 

Alexander’s increasingly confused musing was cut short by the door opening again. All eyes turned to it and the figure standing behind it. There was something very familiar about him . . . 

Ahead of him Justin gasped and stammered a single word in a tone of mingled wonder and disbelief.

“S-Solan?!?!”

ΩΩΩΩΩ

It took a full three seconds for Justin to realize who he was staring at, and then he immediately began to doubt both his eyes and his sanity. What he thought he was seeing was impossible, in more ways than one. 

It was Solan, but not as Justin had known him; the preteen had changed a great deal in the past twenty-four hours. 

The first and most striking difference was his obvious increase in size. He had grown a couple of inches and stood half a head taller than Justin. He also boasted an astronomically better build than he had possessed yesterday. This was especially evident given his altered attire; he was garbed like a barbarian, wearing only leather and deeply tanned muscles. 

In place of his modest vest and tunic two thin cross-belts visibly strained to contain his exceedingly broad shoulders and proud, cannonball-sized pecs. Those straps arced down to join with a leather belt, neatly framing the youth’s chiseled, eight-pack set of abs. 

From a hook on that belt hung a circular blade, a chakram. A pair of leather briefs and boots completed the outfit, leaving his very muscular arms and legs bared for all to see, and admire. 

Even his face was subtly different, his features more mature and more handsome. His long blond hair fell down past his neck as before, but the headband his adoptive father Kaleipus had given him was gone. His eyes, which had once shone with the warmth of a summer sky, were now an unfamiliar, icy blue. 

With his new clothing and truly spectacular physique Solan looked like a young Greek god rather the ordinary twelve year-old he had been. He put Justin in mind of a teenage Zeus, or perhaps an adolescent Apollo. 

As the four of them stared at this transformed being he smirked confidently and strode into the room. He moved with a liquid, feral grace, like a tiger about to pounce. His body language was relaxed and self-assured, without even a hint of his former fear and nervousness. 

Justin could only stand there motionless, virtually paralyzed by his shock. Everyone else seemed equally immobilized, until Kenny started screaming. 

“NO! No, you were supposed to kill him! He said he wasn’t suited to your contest, so why didn’t you KILL him?!?! WHY?!?!”

What was he talking about? What did Kenny know about all of this? Was it-was it really Solan before them? 

The thought brought an overwhelming surge of joy and relief, almost more than the fourteen year-old could bear. One of his friends was alive! He hadn’t failed his team, not all of them! Solan was still here, was still alive! 

Solan halted about ten feet from Justin and his right hand flashed to the circle of steel at his belt. He flung the chakram like a Frisbee, directly at Alexander! 

Justin whirled to see it pass above Alexander by less than an inch. The lethal disc bounced off the back wall and ricocheted off the east wall, flying right back into Solan’s grasp. With a smug smile he returned the ring to its hook and reached behind him, unsheathing a sword which must have been held in a back scabbard. The long, mirror-bright blade was clearly a two-handed weapon, but Solan held it effortlessly with only one hand. 

What was he doing?!?! By some miracle Solan had come back alive, but his insane aggression was going to get him killed if Justin didn’t act fast. Alexander was already hefting his bat’leth, his alien face showing what Justin believed to be outrage.

Quickly Justin moved to the forefront of the group, deliberately blocking Alexander with his body. He held up his hands placatingly, regardless of the fact that one of them still held the Turbo Blade. 

“Solan, it’s all right! You don’t have to try to fight us! I won’t let anyone hurt you.” 

In response Solan leapt high into the air, performing a perfect somersault and landing right in front of Justin. Before his feet even touched the ground he lashed out with his sword, catching the edge of the Turbo Blade and sending it flying. An instant later he landed a devastatingly powerful kick to Justin’s chest. 

From his new resting place on the floor Justin was vaguely conscious of motion around him and the sounds of fighting, but he was primarily concerned with trying to draw in another breath. It felt like he’d been kicked by a mule! Though the incredible size and definition of Solan's muscles had amply foreshadowed the fact, Justin was nonetheless amazed at how strong the other boy had grown! There had been more force behind his mighty kick than there had ever been behind any of the blows delivered by Divatox's minions. 

Then there was his astonishing agility to consider. His ten-foot leap and midair flip had been worthy of a professional acrobat! It had to be Archon’s doing. For whatever reason he must have physically enhanced Solan, increasing the Grecian’s size, strength, swiftness and coordination.

A myriad of question concerning his transformed friend clamored for his attention, but they were all firmly set aside. There would be time to seek answers later. Right now his first priority had to be safeguarding Solan's life. Even with whatever Archon had done to him it seemed doubtful that he could survive against the remaining three kids alone. The Blue Turbo Ranger staggered unsteadily to his feet, ready to save Solan, but he soon saw that it was Alexander, Kenny and Colin who needed saving.

Alexander told him later that after his dramatic downing Solan had backflipped out of range. Alexander had charged forward with the bat'leth, but Solan's bastard sword had easily parried every thrust and chop. It had been almost like the traitor was playing with him! Eventually Alexander had tried a full chest cut, but the center of his crescent weapon met his opponent's down turned blade. A quick movement sent the bat'leth high and Solan had followed up by slamming the pommel of his sword into his foe's ridged forehead. Justin regained his feet at the same time Alexander slumped to the floor, unconscious. 

In the meantime the vampire had run over and seized his Turbo Blade, while Kenny circled around behind Solan. As Justin watched in stupefied amazement the blond warrior-boy confronted Kenny, taking the latter's short sword away from him with two strokes and shattering his jaw with a backhanded punch. Kenny collapsed and curled up into a ball, weeping. 

Solan then turned his back on Kenny and disarmed his undead opponent with his chakram, knocking the Turbo Blade from the dark-haired creature’s hand. The young vampire hesitated, unsure of whether to advance or retreat. Solan solved the problem by throwing his great sword like a spear, skewering Colin through the stomach. 

Justin searched Solan’s face, hoping to spot something that would explain his friend’s behavior. Some sign of remorse, perhaps, suggesting that he was being forced to do this. Instead what he beheld was an expression of pure, unabashed exultation. He had never seen his friend look happier or more excited. Then the blond boy’s focus shifted to him.

Solan stalked confidently toward the Turbo Ranger, grinning in apparent anticipation of what was to come. That cocky, evil grin scared Justin more than anything he had seen so far. 

Hesitantly the teen black belt assumed a defensive stance, reluctantly preparing to fend off his friend’s assault. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Solan, but it didn’t appear the feeling was mutual; the overgrown, strong as an ox twelve year-old was clearly ready to rip him apart. 

"Solan, stop!" Justin shouted desperately. "I don't want to fight you! I'm your friend!" The only reply from Solan was a heart-stopping glare, and the gloating voice of Archon once more filled the room. 

"I'M AFRAID THE SOLAN YOU KNEW ISN'T HERE ANYMORE, JUSTIN. MEET THE WARRIOR PRINCE!" 

Justin's eyes widened in partial recognition of the title, but there was no time to consider its implications; his attacker was upon him. Justin launched a snap kick at his friend's face, hoping to end things quickly. The Warrior Prince easily dodged the kick and seized Justin's upraised ankle in his left hand. His iron-hard right fist slammed into the teenager’s solar plexus, and he viciously twisted Justin’s leg before contemptuously flinging the Ranger to the floor. 

With the wind knocked out of him Justin could only stare fearfully up at his proud conqueror. The hefty young Hercules looming over him looked literally capable of crushing him underfoot! 

"THE TEST IS OVER," Archon declared. "THE WARRIOR PRINCE HAS WON." 

The great Grecian sneered down at Justin and flexed his tremendous muscles in triumph. Even the brave Blue Turbo Ranger couldn't keep from quailing at the sight of those softball-sized, strength-filled biceps. 

“YOU WILL BE GIVEN TIME TO HEAL BEFORE THE CONTEST RESUMES” Archon went on. "FOR NOW YOU MAY RETURN TO YOUR QUARTERS." 

The door slid open and the victor departed at once, pausing only long enough to retrieve his sword from a moaning Colin and his chakram from the floor. Justin tried to stand, but his twisted ankle would not support him and he sank back down with a sob. Then he called out to his only remaining ally. 

"Alexander! Alexander, wake up!" 

The prostrate Klingon stirred and opened his eyes, groaning as he did so. "Wha . . what happened?" he asked woozily. 

It was a damn good question, and at the moment the confused and bewildered teenager had only one answer to give. 

"The Warrior Prince happened," Justin responded grimly. 

When Alexander had regained his feet and his senses he came over and helped Justin up, allowing the Ranger to lean on him for support. Slowly they began to move toward the door, but he couldn’t leave yet, not without talking to Kenny. When they had reached his traitorous teammates side he asked Alexander to stop. Then, with his left arm still slung across the Klingon’s shoulder, he leaned down as far as he dared. 

“Kenny, why were you shouting? What do you know about what happened to Solan?” Justin demanded. 

Kenny raised his head and through his tears and broken jaw mumbled something unintelligible. 

“I can’t understand you,” the teen admitted. 

Kenny repeated himself, and this time Justin was able to make out what the smaller boy was saying. 

“Go to Hell.” 

Barely resisting the overwhelming urge to punch Kenny, Justin straightened and he and Alexander resumed moving toward the door. As they passed the threshold Justin involuntarily demorphed. 

They reached the hallway and Alexander turned to the right. 

“No, wait, go left! We have to talk to Solan!” Justin insisted. They had to find out what Archon had done to him! 

“You and I need to talk,” Alexander growled, continuing without pause. 

After they had reached Justin’s room Alexander carefully eased him onto his bed. Staring down at the Ranger he bluntly ordered, “Tell me what happened after I was struck.” 

Quickly and concisely Justin related how he, Kenny and the vampire had been beaten. When he had finished he hesitated, knowing that asking what he wanted to would once again be treading on dangerous ground. There was no help for that, though; he needed as much information as he could get on how Solan had acted and fought. So he questioned Alexander about what had happened after he had been knocked down. 

With a worrying amount of anger Alexander described how Solan had backflipped away and adroitly parried every one of Alexander’s attacks before rendering the Klingon unconscious. 

“Next time he will not be so fortunate!” Alexander finished vehemently, a vow which fueled Justin’s growing fears. 

“Alexander,” he began carefully, “there shouldn’t be a next time. Solan isn’t an enemy, he’s one of us!”

“He attacked us!” Alexander snarled. “Just as Kenny attacked you! Is Kenny “one of us” too?” 

“It’s not the same!” Justin protested, knowing he should have seen that one coming. “Kenny chose to lie to us and use us; Solan didn’t. This is Archon’s doing. He’s changed Solan somehow. You can tell that just by looking at him!”

Alexander scowled in response. “Archon might have improved your pet, but it was his choice to challenge us.” 

“I don’t think it was his choice! Archon probably has him under some kind of mind control, like Morthos did with me. We need to break him out of it somehow without hurting him.” 

Justin’s passion and enthusiasm were evident in his voice, but they didn’t seem to impress Alexander. On the contrary, the Klingon’s reaction was one of disgust.

“How do you know this is true?” he demanded.

“Because it’s Solan! He wouldn’t turn on us like this!”

“Enough!” Alexander bellowed. “You have learned nothing! You’ll still seize hold of any fantasy to keep from having to kill one of your own species.” He whirled around and headed for the room’s exit. 

“Alexander, wait!” Justin called. He leaned forward on the bed, his sprained ankle keeping him from getting up and going after the furious Klingon. 

Alexander paused in the doorway, turning back toward Justin. 

“I swore that I would not attack those who did not attack me. Solan has broken that pact, and I will kill him for it. If you try to stop me, you too will have violated our pact, and I will kill you as well.” 

Speechless, Justin could only watch helplessly as Alexander disappeared into the corridor and the door slid shut behind him. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

By the time he got back to his room Kenny was in too much of a rage to even think straight. He cast about destroying whatever he could, smashing the computer monitor, tearing the clothes in the bureau, ripping his pillow and overturning his desk. 

Once his jaw had mended he began screaming obscenities at Archon, cursing the unseen being in profane terms both modern and archaic. Intermixed with the steady stream of vilification were heartfelt threats and bitter pleas. 

“I’m not suitable for your contest either!” Kenny howled, so loudly that the effort seemed to tear at his throat. “Why don’t you change me the way you did Solan?”

“YOUR CUNNING, STEALTH AND IMMORTALITY HAVE MADE YOU A FORMIDIBLE COMPETITOR, KENNY. SOLAN POSSESSED NONE OF THOSE TRAITS AND SO WAS IN TRUE NEED OF THE AID I OFFERED.”

Not expecting an answer, Kenny fell silent for a bare instant before exploding again. 

“And you gave all that help to him right when I was about to kill him!” Kenny accused. “Why? Why did you even bring him in to begin with?” 

“MY REASONS ARE MY OWN. I HAVE MAINTAINED FAIRNESS BY GIVING YOU AND THE OTHERS THE CHANCE TO SLAY HIM TOGETHER. I UNDERSTAND, THOUGH, THAT YOU FEEL UNFAIRLY USED. THEREFORE I WILL OFFER YOU AN ADDITIONAL REWARD: WIN MY TOURNAMENT, AND BEFORE I RETURN YOU TO YOUR WORLD I WILL TRANSFORM YOU INTO AN ADULT IMMORTAL, WITH ALL OF THE PHYSYCAL SKILS AND ABILITIES YOU WOULD HAVE OBTAINED FROM LIFETIMES OF RIGOROUS TRAINING.”

The impact of those words upon Kenny was greater than any others he had ever heard. He was suddenly short of breath and slowly sank down to his haunches, his trembling legs no longer able to support him. After all of these centuries trapped as a child, Archon was offering . . . to make him an adult? 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Colin was the last one to emerge from the chamber, and he didn’t go far. As soon as he entered the dining room the replicator lowered itself to the floor. His desperate rasp for blood brought a mug full of the crimson, life-giving substance. He gulped it down so quickly that some spilled on his cheeks and dribbled down his chin. 

He asked for another, and again emptied it almost immediately. The blood would help him heal, but it would do nothing to assist his understanding of what had happened. He knew by the scent that the boy they had fought was the same one who had been involved in the tournament since its inception; otherwise he would have never believed it. The Solan Colin had observed before had been prey; this Warrior Prince was an extremely dangerous predator. 

The transformation had to be Archon’s doing. But why? Why had he interfered with his own tournament, just as it was reaching its climax?

ΩΩΩΩΩ

After his disastrous encounter with Alexander Justin began breathing deeply. He conscientiously employed every one of the relaxing techniques he had learned in the course of his martial arts training. Gradually he managed to calm himself. Once that was done he strove to marshal his thoughts and bring them into some kind of coherent order. If ever he needed to think clearly it was now, when everything had been upended without warning.

Getting Solan back alive should have been like a dream come true, but Archon seemed determined to twist it into a nightmare. Bad enough that he had deliberately set Solan up against the rest of them; much worse was his warping of the innocent boy’s body and mind. 

From what Justin had seen only Solan’s long hair remained unchanged. Facially his jaw was firmer and his cheekbones more defined. He was tanned, noticeably taller and far more powerfully built than a twelve year-old boy had a right to be. The physical prowess he had displayed was remarkable, his strength and quickness also exceeding what Justin imagined was biologically possible for a normal preteen. 

In addition he had demonstrated new skills, such as his acrobatics and the swordsmanship which had allowed him to best Alexander. Given that his only previous training had been with a staff, Solan’s sudden expertise with a blade could only be the result of Archon meddling with the Grecian boy’s mind. If their captor could implant knowledge, wasn’t it logical to assume he could also control the consciousness? Mental coercion was certainly the simplest and most likely reason for Solan’s actions. 

Presumably he had been told they would try to kill him, but that alone hardly explained his behavior. Justin and Alexander were his teammates, his friends! He must have known that they wouldn’t hurt him! Yet there had been no spark of affection or companionship in his artic eyes as he had coolly surveyed them. He hadn’t asked them for help, nor had he betrayed any visible apprehension at the prospect of facing four opponents at once. The strained courage which Justin had so admired in him had disappeared, replaced by a demeanor of utter fearlessness and complete self-confidence. The difference in attitude was in its own way every bit as discordant and jarring as the physical modifications.

The results of the subsequent battle, however, had suggested the new mindset was justified. Solan-unschooled, helpless Solan- had taken all of them down without any apparent effort. The whole experience had been so surreal, so unexpected. Getting his ass kicked by Solan was something he never could have envisioned happening. 

No, not by Solan- by the Warrior Prince. Archon himself had made that distinction. He had said that Solan wasn’t here anymore, and this was the Warrior Prince.

It was practically a confession to having used mind control! Why else would he say that Solan was gone, unless he had overwritten Solan’s true personality? 

As a Power Ranger Justin was no stranger to mental manipulation. Divatox had once managed to make Ashley’s newly designed suit influence him to become angry and cruel when he wore it. From reading the Command Center archives he was familiar with a score of other incidents where mind control had been used against the Earth’s Rangers over the years, and of course he had recently fallen prey to Morthos’ hypnotic spell.

The actual effects on the victim of such control varied greatly depending upon the magical or technological method employed. In Solan’s case he had obviously not been turned into a mindless automaton. On the contrary, throughout the fight he had been smirking and showing off, openly reveling in his physical supremacy. That could mean that Archon had greatly amplified his friend’s aggression, or it could be that their captor had programmed in a new consciousness entirely. 

Either way a loss of memory regarding his former life was a distinct and distinctly worrying possibility. Was that why Solan hadn’t responded to him? If so the situation was even worse than he had thought. Everything he had read indicated that an emotional appeal from the victim’s friends was the most reliable way of shattering mental conditioning, but how could he appeal to a friendship that Solan (or rather the Warrior Prince) didn’t remember? 

Was there any insight to be gleaned from that particular choice of name? Justin vividly remembered Solan’s tales of his friend Xena, the Warrior Princess. What did it mean that Solan had been given the male equivalent of the title? Was Archon implying Solan was now as good a fighter as Xena was? Or did it apply to character, indicating that he had made Solan as ruthless as Xena had once been? Perhaps it was simply intended to differentiate between the false persona and the real Solan. 

Because the Warrior Prince was surely a product of Archon’s mind control and thus separate from Solan. To believe otherwise, as Alexander did, was ridiculous! Solan was his friend. He wouldn’t turn on Justin by choice. 

Not like Kenny had. It had been wholly unreasonable of Alexander to try to link the two. Aside from the fact that they had both seemed in need of help, they had nothing in common. Kenny had deceived them from the start, concealing both his weapon and his apparent rapid healing ability. He had been sullen and uncommunicative, telling them very little about himself. Solan had been exactly the opposite, sharing so much about his life and his world with Justin. He hadn’t concealed anything about himself.

Including his desire to learn how to fight. Of course, in their current situation, who wouldn’t want to know how to defend himself? It was completely natural, especially for Solan. He had already lost so many people he cared about to violence, most recently Jo. The guilt and shame he felt over being unable to prevent any of those deaths had been virtually palpable when they had spoken two nights ago. 

That was the same night Solan had asked Justin to teach him karate, a request the Ranger had refused. It wasn’t as if he’d wanted to say no! He would have loved to teach his friend the martial arts; it just hadn’t been feasible then, for so many reasons. 

But had Solan understood that? Maybe he should have tried to explain his decision better, but his friend had practically ordered him out of the room. 

Then at breakfast the next day Solan had been bitter and fatalistic. Not that Justin blamed him; he couldn’t imagine what it was like to go through this tournament when you were so ill-prepared for it. 

Perhaps the limits of his imagination were keeping him from understanding other things as well. 

Closing his eyes Justin shook his head angrily. This was how the tournament had changed him. Before coming here he wouldn’t have considered this possibility. Now, try as he might, he couldn’t keep his mind from it, and all of his efforts to reassure himself just seemed to twist into new doubts. 

He was letting his shattered faith in people get the best of him, and in the process he was stupidly overlooking the most important fact of all. Back there in the battle room, the Warrior Prince hadn’t killed anyone. He could have taken the life of one or all of them, but he hadn’t! 

What better proof could there be that he was being mentally forced to fight them? If he had wanted to win the tournament he could have done so already. So he was being controlled, and the extent of that control was limited, not enough to make him kill. 

Sitting up Justin put all of his weight on his good ankle and slowly rose to his feet. It was time for him to stop thinking about the situation and do something about it. He needed more information about whatever Archon had done to Solan and he needed to begin his verbal efforts to break through the brainwashing. That meant talking directly to the one involved, and he was going to make it to Solan’s room even if he had to crawl there. 

Justin hobbled determinedly to the door, steeling himself against the continuous bursts of pain from his leg. The door slid open and he began making his way slowly down the passage, leaning on the wall for support. 

Talking here would have the added advantage of protecting him from any violence on the Warrior Prince’s part. Injured as he was, he wouldn’t last two seconds in a fight. Even if he had been whole he would have to seriously question his chances against the Warrior Prince. Admittedly he’d been practically in shock during their last confrontation, and that counted for a lot. On the other hand even the brief time they’d battled had been long enough for him to see that Archon had made his friend into a formidable opponent.

Justin stopped at the crossroads as the most fundamental question of all belatedly burst into his consciousness: WHY? Why had Archon changed Solan? What was his motive? 

Archon had affected the combat abilities of his captives before this. He had limited Justin’s access to the Morphin Grid and he had prevented Jo from assuming her Beetleborg form. Those changes were to hinder them, to bring them down to the level of the other contestants. With Solan, however, Archon had done exactly the opposite! By making Solan a physical paragon he had enormously empowered the Grecian boy, upgrading him from the weakest contestant to almost certainly the strongest. Why? 

And why now? Justin and Jo’s restrictions had been put in place from the beginning. Why had Archon waited until the third day to transform Solan?

Could he have acted out of pity? Seeing how hard things were for Solan and trying to help in his own sick, twisted way? No. Any being that would set in motion a sadistic blood-sport such as this one couldn’t possibly be moved by pity. 

Had it been done to deliberately fracture Justin and Alexander’s alliance? That seemed like a much more plausible explanation. The circumstances of Solan’s return had already dealt a near-fatal blow to their partnership, which heavily increased the odds that the tournament would end with but a single survivor. Furthermore, Archon must have realized that returning an aggressive Solan would open this rift between him and Alexander over how to handle the situation. It was a cruel and elegant way solution to the problem of him and Alexander refusing to cooperate with the tournament. 

The one flaw in this reasoning was that Kenny had apparently witnessed Solan being taken. Since Kenny had been with or hunting Justin for the last portion of the day, Solan must have been removed in the morning or early afternoon. That would have been well before Archon could have known that he and Alexander would both survive the day. 

Could the motivation have been pure whimsy? As the tournament wound down perhaps it had gotten too predictable for Archon. He could have introduced this new element simply to shake things up and make the endgame less predictable. 

Justin couldn’t wholly dismiss that possibility, but he doubted it. Archon didn’t give the impression of being a creature of impulse; his other choices, such as the handicapping of him and Jo, making sure they were all healed at the beginning, etc, all seemed logical and well thought-out.

Except for his choice to bring Solan here in the first place. Archon initially claimed he had selected young warriors, but Solan hadn’t been a warrior, not really. His only skill was with a staff, and Archon hadn’t even bothered to provide him with one.

Earlier he had assumed that both Kenny and Solan were in the same boat, unfairly brought here for their minor combat talents. Now that he knew Kenny had a sword and some kind of healing factor, Solan’s selection stood out as uniquely anomalous. 

Justin shivered as a sudden chill went through him. He was missing something. He knew it; he could almost feel it. There was something here he wasn’t seeing, and he wasn’t sure if that was because he couldn’t see it, or because he was overlooking it. 

He needed to talk to the Warrior Prince now. He resumed his course toward the room, almost not noticing the pain from his ankle. 

Until it ceased. 

The absence of pain brought Justin to a dead stop. He gingerly tested his right ankle. It felt as good as new. 

He looked up-and found himself standing on an overgrown path in a dense forest. The canopy of branches and leaves overhead filtered the sunlight through in tiny cracks, making the woods appear gloomy and forgotten. The path he was on had knee-high grass stretching as far as the eye could see in both directions. There was no sign of anyone else. 

“ALL OF YOU HAVE COMPLETED YOUR HEALING FROM THE WARRIOR PRINCE’S TEST. THERE IS NO NEED TO FURTHER DELAY MY TOURNAMENT, ESPECIALLY SINCE WE ARE SO NEAR THE CONCLUSION.”

Justin could have sworn he detected smug self-satisfaction in the electronic voice, but the frustrated anger he was feeling could have distorted his perceptions. 

Ignoring his own feelings for the moment he took out his Turbo Key and activated his morpher. With a cry of, “Shift into Turbo!” Justin transformed once more into the Blue Turbo Ranger. 

Now somewhat better protected, he was able to fume at Archon’s abysmal timing. He had been so close! 

Maybe that was the point. Could Archon have returned them to the Battlefield at this moment to prevent him from speaking with the Warrior Prince? Was his entertaining such a suspicion being paranoid or being sensibly cautious, and how much difference remained between the two at this point? 

After he summoned up his Turbo Blade Justin picked a direction and started to walk along the path. He would have to speak to the Warrior Prince without the benefit of an anti-violence shield, assuming he could find his friend. If he should run across Alexander first he would try again to reason with the Klingon, citing the new proofs of mind-control that he had thought of. And if he found Kenny or the vampire . . . he would kill them. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Alexander’s plans were similar, although he had no intention of speaking with the treacherous human child. The indignity and shame of having been defeated by one whom he had considered beneath contempt burned fiercely in his breast. Only the traitor’s heart’s blood could quench that fire. 

Of course Archon had unfairly aided Solan. Why he had done this Alexander could not begin to guess, but the reason was unimportant. What was important was redeeming his honor by slaying the impudent, ungrateful upstart. He had no doubts about his ability to accomplish this task. No matter what physical changes Archon had wrought in Solan, he could not give the fundamentally weak boy the fighting spirit of a true warrior. When next they met Alexander would prove what a difference that spirit made. 

Stomping down the tall grass which infested this path was an easy way to vent some of the fury he felt toward this “Warrior Prince”, and toward Justin. 

The Turbo Ranger had greatly disappointed him. Alexander had thought Justin had at last won free from his distorted views of his own species and the role of a warrior. Instead the Ranger had immediately fallen back into his old pattern of making up excuses for other humans and refusing to deal with his enemies as a warrior should. He insisted on blaming Solan’s actions on mental control, when in fact they fit exactly what Alexander would have expected of the boy.

The pathetic child had attached himself to Justin in the first place because he couldn’t survive here. And he had proven his survival was all that mattered to him when he had abandoned the human female to her death. Leaving his ally to die alone had been an act of unforgivable cowardice and dishonor, something no Klingon would ever think to do. 

Predictably once Archon had bafflingly gifted him with some degree of power Solan had immediately shed the bonds of loyalty and comradeship, just as Kenny had. He had seen victory in the tournament was his only chance to live and so he had betrayed his oath at once to seek it. His was an all too disgustingly human course, one which would not be rewarded. Alexander would make sure of that. 

The path twisted and turned through the forest. He came across a couple of alternating branches to the left, but Alexander ignored them and continued straight on. About twenty yards ahead another figure appeared around a bend in the path. With a pang of disappointment Alexander saw that it was the crippled dark-haired child Justin had called a vampire rather than the boy he was longing to kill. Ah, well: an enemy was an enemy. Lifting his bat’leth Alexander charged forward with a shout. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

The Anointed froze when he saw the brown-skinned alien barreling toward him, fear locking his joints in place. The sight of that enormous, crescent-shaped blade terrified him and increased his awareness of the ever-present pain in the stump of his left arm. 

For long seconds he merely stood there as the shouting warrior raced toward him. Then he regained control of himself and darted off the path, into the trees. They had grown close together, and there was little space between them. Certainly not enough to wield the large weapon his enemy possessed.

Once he got a little way into the forest he stopped and turned back around. Digging his remaining hand into his pocket he pulled out the third stone he had found yesterday, the one he’d never had a chance to use. Unlike the dagger and the other two rocks, this one had materialized with him when he had appeared here, perhaps because it had still been on his person when he was teleported away yesterday. 

He had only one chance. 

His enemy came in after him, without the crescent blade, but holding a wickedly-shaped dagger. He threw the rock and for an instant flashed back to memories of playing baseball as a human. Sometimes he could tell a pitch was good almost before the ball had left his hand. This was one of those times. 

The rock smashed into the scabbed-over cut on the alien’s ridged forehead, reopening it and filling the air with the strange scent of his blood. He staggered, grabbing onto a tree to his left for balance and inadvertently dropping his dagger. 

Colin virtually flew forward and buried his fangs in the creature’s neck. He began to drink the foul-tasting blood, hoping it wouldn’t prove harmful. The alien made a choked-off cry and sat down abruptly, dragging Colin along to the ground. 

The Anointed felt his foe’s left hand tightly grasp his hair, while the right brought the recovered dagger up and jammed it into his neck. The agony was overwhelming, and only increased as the sharp blade began to saw through bone and flesh. Colin tried to grab for his enemy’s wrist, forgetting that he no longer possessed a hand to seize it with. He disengaged his fangs and attempted to fling himself away, but the alien’s firm hold on his hair held him in place. 

The dagger severed his spinal cord and he felt the rest of his body drop away from him as everything went dark. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

Once they were separated both parts of the creature exploded into dust, covering Alexander and choking him as he inhaled. He spat several times to purge the worst of the taste from his mouth. 

The cuts on his forehead and finger had reopened, he had twin puncture wounds in his neck, and he had lost an unknown amount of his blood. Regardless he savored yet another triumph on the field of battle.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Kenny stumbled through the untamed woods, making his way with difficulty through the undergrowth. The paths would have been much easier, but he couldn’t risk being detected.

His hands were clenched tightly around his sword. The first thing he had done upon arriving here was to remove it from his backpack. There was no longer a point in keeping it hidden, though failing to have it ready could lead to his death. 

The blade still trembled periodically. Not because it was too heavy for him to hold, but because he could barely control his anxiety. Had he ever felt this tense, this nervous before? He didn’t think so. Even when he had sought to deceive and behead his first Immortal he had been calmer than this. Then, however, it had been only his life at stake; now so much more hung in the balance. 

Thousands of times he had furiously cursed the fate which had condemned him to Immortality in this child’s body. His first death had come at the age of twelve, when he was on the very cusp of manhood. And so there he had always remained, almost within reach of adulthood, yet forever denied its benefits. Everywhere he went he was regarded and treated as a child. He would never be old enough to live on his own, never be old enough to fight as other Immortals did, never be old enough for a woman! He had been cheated of the myriad of pleasures and advantages Immortality allowed others of his kind to enjoy, simply because it had come to him when he was too young. 

For over eight hundred years he had endured this tortured, freakish existence. The idea of finally being able to leave it behind, to grow to true physical maturity at last . . . 

Admittedly, once he was a man he would be forced to abandon the tactics which had served him so well over the centuries. The innocence which had lured Immortals to their doom like moths to a flame would be snuffed out and extinguished by his ascension to adulthood. That was a frightening reality to face, and he would be lying if he had said it didn’t scare him. As serious a loss as it was, however, it paled into utter insignificance in the face of what he would gain. 

Besides, as he had realized last night, he couldn’t hope to prevail in the Game like this. If he wanted to win the Prize he had to be able to compete on an equal basis. He needed to be able to match the skill, strength and physical prowess of the other Immortals. Then he could see how MacLeod liked facing someone his own size. Or even bigger! The possibility of being able to literally look down on that smug, self-righteous Scotsman was intoxicating! It was almost as tempting as the prospect of making Amanda his. 

He would be unrecognizable to her as an adult, and he knew her well. He could lead her to fall in love with him. And if she didn’t come to him willingly, well, there wouldn’t be any real problem in taking her by force.

Breathing heavily now, Kenny stopped for a moment to regain his emotional balance. He was getting ahead of himself again. It was so easy to slip into fantasies of what he would do after the tournament, but this was not the time to daydream! He had to be one hundred percent focused on the task before him. His new life depended on the deaths of his four competitors, and the difficulty of achieving that goal had not diminished. Perhaps then he should have been mired in despair, but the emotion which most filled him at the moment was exactly the opposite: it was hope. For the first time since he had been betrayed by Frederick, he had hope. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

Justin figured he’d been walking for a little over an hour. He had seen no sign of any of the others, or indeed of any life other than trees and plants. There were no birds chirping, no squirrels scampering about, no insects buzzing through the air. This was as dead and quiet a patch of forest as one could imagine, and the absolute stillness unnerved him. 

Although he had never been to a desert or mountain, he’d visited a number of forests while camping with Dad. They’d often made a game out of seeing who could spot the most animals. Here there was absolutely nothing to spot, which proved that these woods weren’t natural. 

Presumably the forest, like the other areas of the Battlefield, had been constituted solely for this sick game. That would explain the meandering nature of the overgrown path, which twisted and turned through the trees without any discernible pattern or logic. He had already proceeded straight through a four-way junction. Shortly after that the path had opened up into a large clearing where the grass was unexpectedly only ankle length. He had considered remaining there, but in the end had decided to press on.

Now he was approaching another intersection and once again none of the grass on the other paths had been trampled down, indicating that no one had yet come this way. As he neared the center of the crossroads he heard a rustling of leaves from above him. Before he could look up something hit him in the side of his neck. His legs collapsed under him and he barely managed to tumble back into a tree instead of forward onto his face. His body had ceased responding to his commands. He tried to take a breath, and failed. His lungs felt like they were going to explode!

Far above Justin saw a shape hanging upside down from a tree branch, its long hair trailing downward and its right hand extended down to where Justin’s neck would have been. The figure somersaulted to the ground, his muscular legs easily absorbing the impact of his landing. Rising he swaggered toward Justin and once more stood looming over the fallen Ranger, his brilliant sapphire eyes screaming with power. 

“I’ve blocked the flow of blood to your brain. You’ll be dead in thirty seconds,” he explained calmly. His voice was deeper than before, resonant with strength and self-confidence. 

Justin tried to argue with his friend, to plead with him, but he had neither the breath needed to speak nor control over his vocal cords. He could only lie there, his racing mind able to do nothing more than count down the seconds remaining until his death. 

At fifteen an expression of frustrated disgust abruptly crossed his assailant’s handsome visage. 

“This is just too easy,” he muttered. Kneeling down beside Justin he expertly jabbed the stiffened fingers of his right hand into a specific point on the teenager’s neck. Suddenly Justin could breathe again. He sucked in air greedily, gasping like a landed fish. The vast relief he felt was mingled with fear and bafflement. What had the Warrior Prince done to him? What kind of hand strike could have that effect? He had never even read of such a technique! Its use worried him, though perhaps the more important consideration was that he had been spared for the second time. Solan was still in there; if Justin could only reach him! 

He couldn’t do that via threatening. So he left his Turbo Blade on the ground where it had fallen, rising slowly to his feet. 

The Warrior Prince had withdrawn to a little way beyond the cross-roads, standing on the path opposite the one Justin had followed. When he saw the Turbo Ranger was ambulatory he advanced. 

“Wait!” Justin urged, throwing his hands up. “It’s me, Justin! Don’t you remember me?” 

His adversary paused a few feet away and Justin was forcibly reminded of how much his friend had changed. Before they’d been almost the same height; now, even with only a few extra inches, the twelve year-old seemed to tower over him. This impression was reinforced by the fact that the golden-haired boy’s flawless, fantastic physique utterly dwarfed the Ranger’s own. His sheer physical presence was overwhelming, and increased the fear Justin was fighting down.

“Of course I remember you! But I’m no longer the pitiful Solan you remember! I’m the Warrior Prince, the person I was destined to be!”

“What do you mean?” Justin asked urgently. “What did Archon do to you?”

“He helped me, more than you ever would have! He told me the truth about myself and he returned to me my birthright!”

The cryptic explanation made no sense to Justin. What was the Warrior Prince talking about? What kind of nonsense had Archon pumped into his head? He considered pursing the matter further, but decided instead to strike at the heart of the problem.

“Solan, why did you attack Alexander and me? We’re your friends!”

“I told you, I’m not Solan anymore!” he snarled. “The worthless weakling you “befriended” is gone. I’ve become so much more than the child who once cowered in your shadow. You’re going to be the one cowering before me now,” he promised menacingly. 

Aware that the situation was deteriorating the Turbo Ranger abandoned questions and launched into his appeal to his friend. 

“Listen to me! Archon has done something to your mind. He’s trying to control you, to make you fight us, but I know he can’t change who you are. Inside you’re still the same person, you’re still Solan! Fight what he did and remember your true self!” 

“I am not Solan!” the preteen titan roared. “I’ll never be your little pet again! This is who I am! You’ve already seen how I’ve surpassed you, but I’ll give you one final demonstration.”

He moved to within striking distance, emanating an air of invincible self-assurance. He didn’t reach for either his sword or chakram, leaving his hands open and empty.

That was a definite blessing. A battle with weapons would have been considerably more dangerous, especially since the Warrior Prince had proven he could outduel Alexander. He had deliberately not summoned his Turbo Blade in the hopes of avoiding such a conflict, and his gamble had paid off. Whether he could overcome his friend in an unarmed affray was another question. The long-haired, most muscular youth had already won against Justin barehanded this morning, but then the Turbo Ranger had been operating under the handicap of shock. 

That wasn’t the case this time. Justin was wholly focused on this fight and the necessity of winning it. He had to triumph, not only for his own sake, but for Solan’s as well. Darting forward he unleashed a double punch, one fist rocketing toward his opponent’s nose while the other homed in those defined, eight-pack abs.

The lightning fast Prince batted both blows aside before retaliating with a savage kick to the midsection. The force of the impact doubled Justin over, almost breaking him in half. He reeled back, already cringing in expectation, but the feared follow-up never materialized. Justin took advantage of the reprieve and, after catching his breath, threw himself back into the fray.

Unfortunately he was disadvantaged in more than one respect. This setting allowed little space to maneuver, hemmed in as they were by the surrounding trees. Then, too, he was functioning under the burden of two shuriken wounds, a concussion, and the combined effects of three days of constant exertion.

He adapted to these difficulties as best he could, adjusting his moves to compensate for the lack of room and using his determination and will to make up for his body’s shortcomings. In hindsight Justin did not believe the limitations he suffered had dictated the course of the battle. On the contrary, he imagined the ultimate outcome would have been the same if they had fought on an open plain while he was in perfect condition. 

The teenager fought conservatively at the beginning, seeking to assess his foe’s capabilities. The Warrior Prince was not a simple brawler, but his style of fighting matched no martial art Justin could identity. Its economy of movement was amazing; there were no wasted motions. Defensively it was nigh impenetrable; almost every strike Justin made was either dodged or blocked. Offensively he curiously lacked follow-through, often failing to take full advantage of his attacks and missing every opportunity to deliver a truly disabling blow. 

This blind spot was the sole ray of hope for Justin, since nothing else gave him any reason for optimism. The younger boy was a total physical powerhouse, far stronger than Justin and a great deal swifter. His reflexes and coordination were phenomenal, while his agility and flexibility belied his muscle mass.

Not since becoming a Turbo Ranger could Justin recall being so completely outclassed by an opponent. The closest he had come was when he fought the ninja, and there he had at least managed to hold his own. Here he couldn’t even claim that much. 

Unbidden his mind flashed back to that old Charles Atlas ad from the comics. Now he knew how the bully must have felt when the wimp had returned as a muscle-bound He-Man and flattened him. The difference was that unlike the bully, he had never “kicked sand” in Solan’s face; he had done his best to help the Grecian boy, something the Warrior Prince seemed unable or unwilling to recognize. Another difference was that the bully’s comeuppance had been over in an instant, while his own showed no signs of ending. The teenager was beginning to feel like a human punching bag, one continually battered by the Warrior Prince’s sledgehammer punches and pile-driver kicks. 

An observer might have likened the Warrior Prince to a machine, but Justin would have disagreed. He had battled machines before, such as the chromites, and they bore little similarity to his current opponent. No machine he had yet encountered had possessed such smoothness and grace of movement. Nor did they exhibit the passion and emotion of his preadolescent adversary. 

The twelve year-old’s obvious enjoyment of what he was doing rubbed metaphorical salt in Justin’s increasing number of wounds. He was grinning fiercely, his pleasure and delight self-evident. The Ranger’s increasingly desperate efforts to gain the advantage only seemed to widen that grin. 

Once . . . twice . . . three times Justin was knocked to the ground. As he painfully pulled himself up for the third time, again without interference, he wondered why his opponent was so cavalierly ignoring the opportunity presented. Was Solan maintaining enough control to keep his alter-ego from finishing Justin, as had occurred this morning? Did the Warrior Prince have some sense of honor, not wanting to hit him while he was down? 

No. In a moment of insight the answer came to Justin, accompanied by a sickening sense of certainty. The Warrior Prince’s restraint and refusal to follow through on his attacks had nothing to do with Solan or honor; it was all about flaunting his abilities. He was deliberately refraining from ending the fight in order to allow his opponent every possible chance to defeat him. He didn’t just want to win; he wanted to prove beyond doubt that Justin was no match for him. He was toying with the Turbo Ranger, in the same way a cat might toy with a mouse. And it was only a matter of time before the cat, a Bengal tiger in this case, went in for the kill. 

In the face of this despairing realization Justin’s resolve and determination collapsed. He could no longer force his thoroughly bruised and aching body to continue the one-sided fight. What was the point? When the next ax kick slammed into his shoulder and dropped him he literally could not bring himself to rise. He made it only halfway before he fell back with a groan.

Looking up he saw the Warrior Prince standing tall, hands on hips in an intimidating power pose. The large, splendidly muscular preteen was barely winded, while Justin was wheezing like an old man. The younger boy’s striking features bore a look of savage triumph and angry contempt. 

“You can’t defeat me,” he sneered proudly. “I’m a better fighter than you could ever hope to be!” 

“Then fight what he did to you!” Justin begged. “I am your friend! Since we met I’ve done everything I could to help you! You don’t want do to this!”

The Turbo Ranger’s heartfelt words only seemed to infuriate his foe. 

“Don’t you dare call yourself my friend,” he hissed. “Was it out of ‘friendship’ that you refused to teach me karate? Is that what you call keeping people weak and dependent on you? You tried to keep me helpless, just like she did, but you failed. You both failed.” 

Kneeling down the Warrior Prince seized Justin by the throat. Using only his very muscular right arm he easily hoisted the helpless older boy high overhead. 

Justin kicked and writhed in a panic, rapidly depleting his small supply of oxygen. Nothing he did, however, could break the viselike grip on his neck.

The pain was overwhelming, the feeling of strangulation terrifying! His vision was starting to darken, but he could still see the unmitigated fury in his killer’s brilliant blue eyes.

He managed to rasp out a single fragment of a sentence, a final plea to the one he had thought was his friend. 

"Saved you from gladiator," he whispered brokenly.


	9. The Fourth Day Part 2

As Justin started to lose consciousness he experienced the sensation of falling, which abruptly ended when he hit the ground hard, sending a dozen different jolts of pain through his body. He would have screamed if he had the breath, but there was none in his lungs to give voice to his cry. 

Again he gasped for oxygen, this time tearing off his helmet to expedite the air flow. A little voice in the back of his mind whispered that he was still recovering from a concussion and removing the item protecting his head in the presence of an aggressor was an unnecessary risk. 

The rest of his brain dismissed the concern as absurd. The brutally strong He-boy above him had literally beaten him into submission, without even breaking a sweat! If the Warrior Prince still wanted to kill him, he would die, and whether he was wearing his helmet or not wouldn’t make a damn bit of difference. 

“You did help me then,” was the grudging admission Justin heard from on high. “So I’ll do for you what Alexander promised to: I’ll save you until last.”

From Solan such an arrogant guarantee would have been laughable; from the Warrior Prince it was a promise to be seized upon, temporary surcease from the fear and despair he had inspired in the Turbo Ranger.

Justin struggled with how best to respond. His first instinct was to vehemently deny the accusation that he had wanted Solan to remain helpless, to explain in detail the factors which had led him to refuse to teach the latter karate. He was afraid, however, that such a defense might only reignite the other boy’s temper, and he honestly didn’t know if he would survive such an occurrence, promise or no promise. 

His next thought was to explain how Alexander had chosen to join the team fully after all, but this morning’s events seemed to have invalidated that decision. Going into how Alexander had sworn to kill Solan would hardly help matters. 

What would help, though? If he couldn’t appeal to Solan on the basis of friendship, how was he supposed to reach his friend? 

Justin realized he had launched into his attack too early, proceeding on the basis of insufficient information. He had been so eager to get Solan back that he had rushed things, failing to first obtain the knowledge he needed to succeed. 

It was time to question again instead of arguing, and there was probably no time the Warrior Prince would be more likely to answer than after he had proven his superiority. 

“You said Archon gave you back your birthright. What birthright?” Justin croaked rather than spoke. Trying to speak intensified the pain in his throat, but he ignored it as a minor distraction.

Silence followed the question and Justin worried the Warrior Prince wouldn’t respond. Then he replied in a harsh tone. 

“My mother and father were both famed warriors, but as the creation of their union I was fated to eclipse them; I was born to be the greatest warrior my world has ever seen!” 

Solan, of all people, meant to be some kind of uber-warrior ?!?! Impossible! The very idea was ridiculous! There was no way it could be true! Archon had fed him this absurd lie to give some veneer of plausibility to his unnatural transformation. 

Justin’s naked disbelief must have shown on his face, since the Warrior Prince favored him with a brief, cynical smile. 

“This doesn’t mesh with the weakling you met in the tunnels, does it?” the twelve year-old Adonis asked sardonically. “That’s because after I was conceived my parents visited the Oracle at Delphi. She told them of my destiny. My father, Borias, was overjoyed.” He paused for the span of two heartbeats. “My mother was not.”

He started to speak faster, growing anger bleeding through his words. “She could not abide the prospect of being overshadowed by anyone, not even her own son. She and my father quarreled over what to do with me. They separated and Dagnine struck while they were apart. He murdered my father, but she was the one who gave him the chance!” 

The younger boy’s fists were clenched, his tensed, defined biceps and triceps standing out in bold relief. The urge to shrink back from sitting to a prone position swept through Justin, an impulse he resisted. At the same time his memory belatedly threw up a red flag, a contradiction between what Solan had told him previously and this litany of insanity. It burst out of him before he could remember that he was trying not to be confrontational. 

“You just said your mother and father were both warriors, but you told me on the first day that your mother wasn’t a warrior. You said she was kind and gentle, remember?” 

“I remember, fool!” the Warrior Prince snarled, his ire momentarily refocusing on Justin. “I’ve gained knowledge, not lost it.”

“Kaleipus always told me my mother was a gentle woman who hated no one. He lied.” A new expression flitted across his face, one encompassing not only anger, but hurt. The sight lifted Justin’s heart, since it was the first hint of vulnerability that this juggernaut of a boy had shown so far. 

“When my father died my mother was free to do with me as she pleased. She could have killed me, but she felt some affection for me,” the Warrior Prince proclaimed, infusing the word with more venom than Justin had ever heard before. “So she gave me to the Centaurs. I grew up in a village full of horse-men and was taught nothing! She relied on that. She knew without training I could never approach her level of skill. So there would be no one to rival Xena, the Warrior Princess,” he finished bitterly. 

His friend Xena? He thought she was his mother? So that was why he was calling himself the Warrior Prince! 

“I’ve mourned for my mother all of my life,” he admitted in a low tone, one nonetheless replete with an unsettling intensity. “I missed her, longed for her, dreamed of her! I spent hours imagining what she was like, picturing her in my head. I would have given anything for just a few moments with her.”

“And all this time she’d betrayed me!” he roared. “She let my father die, and she abandoned me! I grew up alone and defenseless because of her! She took everything away from me, everything but my life, and why? For the sake of her own envy and pride!”

The bronzed, ripped to the bone youth was openly trembling with the force of what he was feeling. His magnificently muscled chest heaved, his breathing much more labored than it had been during his fight with Justin. His singularly good-looking and manly countenance was twisted into a rage-filled rictus of hate-and grief. 

Down on the ground Justin remained absolutely still. He didn’t move. He didn’t twitch. He didn’t even blink. His hindbrain insisted he do nothing to attract the notice of this lethal predator.

Gradually the preteen Prince of Warriors succeeded in regaining his self-control. His shuddering ceased, his breathing slowed and his hands fell open. When next he spoke his voice held only a trace of unsteadiness. 

“Archon saved me and entered me in his tournament because he was curious to see how I would fare in my untrained state. You know the answer to that,” he noted dismissively. 

“Yesterday he rescued me again before I could be killed. He told me the truth about my parentage and my destiny. Then he offered to undo the effects of my mother’s meddling, to turn me into the fighter she so feared. He said he could make it as thought I had been trained by my mother and father for all of these years.” 

“He gave you a choice?” Justin asked, somewhat incredulously. He’d assumed Archon had altered his friend regardless of the latter’s wishes. That Solan might have consented to the change was a possibility which hadn’t occurred to him. 

“Yes, and once I accepted he followed through with what he’d promised. He didn’t make excuses for why he couldn’t teach me, or tell me that my “mother” wouldn’t want me to be a warrior. He transformed me!” 

The Warrior Prince focused his penetrating gaze on Justin, who struggled to return the stare without flinching. 

“The pain was awful, like being burned everywhere at once, but by the time it ended the weak little boy I had been was gone; at last I was my true self.”

“This is how I always should have been: supremely skilled in the arts of war, strong beyond belief, swift as the wind, and enduring as marble Now I’m finally ready to walk the path laid out for me, to eventually become my world’s greatest warrior, just as the Fates planned.” 

“And when I ascend Xena will fall! I warned my mother when we first met that I was her greatest enemy. Within three years of my return she’ll see how right I was.” 

There was considerable contrast between this icy resolve and the near-rage of earlier, but beneath the surface the only real difference was the degree of control displayed; the motivating emotions were the same.

“I didn’t warn you, but now you know the truth about the useless “primitive” you so pitied. Goodbye, Justin,” he finished and began to turn away. 

Up until this point Justin had remained silent as best he could, absorbing the information he was given and trying very hard to avoid doing anything provocative. Given what he had witnessed his fear of triggering the emotionally unstable, immensely powerful preteen’s wrath had only grown, but he could remain silent no longer. He could not simply let the Warrior Prince leave; right now he at least had a promise to save him for last protecting him. If they separated then by the time they saw each other again that protection might no longer exist. Better to take a chance here than wait and risk everything. There was no time to sort through and analyze what he had learned, so he spoke from the heart. 

“So now that you’ve got the power you’re going to kill everyone? How can you turn on us like that?” Justin demanded. 

The Warrior Prince spun back toward the adolescent, his long blond hair flying. “Us? You mean how can I turn on the arrogant alien who promised to leave me until one of the last he’d kill? Or on the liar who tried to butcher me with his sword? Or on the Power Ranger who thought I was beneath him and wanted to keep me that way? What would have happened to me at your hands if I hadn’t been restored? How much longer would it have been before you would have killed me?”

“I never would have killed you!” Justin denied indignantly, unable to believe the question. How on Earth had this gotten turned around on him?!? 

“Like you didn’t kill Morthos?” the younger boy taunted. 

The question rocked the Turbo Ranger, leaving him speechless. How could the Warrior Prince possibly know about that?!?! Could he have witnessed it? But if he had seen what happened why hadn’t he come to Justin? Did he really think Morthos’ death meant the Turbo Ranger intended to kill everyone? 

In any case slaying Morthos was something he had hardly come to terms with himself; how could he explain what he had done to the Warrior Prince? What could he say? 

The Warrior Prince’s face hardened at Justin’s silence.

“You can’t fool me again, Justin. I’ll see you soon,” he promised before turning his back on the Ranger. He walked to the base of a tree, leaping up and seizing a thick branch with both hands. He acrobatically swung to the top of the branch and then took off through the tree-tops at a speed Justin couldn’t hope to match, ignoring the Ranger’s calls to wait. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

The tunnels, the desert and the mountain had all been unfamiliar terrain, strange and unsettling. A forest, though; that was like coming home again. He couldn’t think of a better environment in which to test his many skills. 

When he had first appeared he had ignored the path and immediately sought the leafy heights. He had always enjoyed climbing trees. It was something none of the centaur children had been able to do, and so had made him feel accomplished and special. The newfound ease with which he had scaled and leapt between these soaring oaks had only added to his gratification. 

Then there were the tactical advantages to be gained from being able to look down on the others. Of course he would always look down on them now, wherever he was. The four remaining contestants were beneath him in more ways than one. 

Justin in particular seemed unable to grasp that; the Turbo Ranger persisted in acting as though he were still the same naïve, useless child he had once been. 

Correcting that impression was one of the main reasons he had released the artery blockage before it proved fatal. There had been a fleeting sense of satisfaction in successfully using the technique, but winning that way would have been empty and meaningless. He didn’t want to slay the Turbo Ranger by surprise, from ambush. No, he needed to crush Justin in a fair fight, to thoroughly demonstrate his vast superiority to the older boy.

So he had released the blockage, and they had fought. That had been his other primary reason for saving Justin: so he could have the pleasure of fighting the teenager.

This morning, while facing the other four contestants, he had learned something important about himself, something he had not hitherto suspected: he had learned that he LIKED fighting! The inherent challenge, the excitement, the primal feeling of combat-all of these combined to make for an intense and wonderful experience. Nothing he had done before could compare to those feelings, much less equal the intoxicating rush of victory! Overwhelming his opponents felt so good, especially when linked to the vengeful thrill of thrashing those who had wrongly thought themselves his betters. 

The day’s first conflict had awakened and whetted his appetite, so against Justin he had gone slowly, pulling his blows and avoiding any crippling strikes. It had been a considerable exercise in self-control, since his instincts and training urged him to finish his foe at once. He had to constantly restrain himself, but the reward for his willpower had been twofold. First, he had forced Justin to realize how much better in battle he was than the Ranger. Second, he had been able to savor the extended conflict, to relish every second of it. By the time their clash concluded and the Ranger lay beaten at his feet, he had known to the depths of his soul that fighting was what he was meant for. 

In that instant his ever-present hatred for his vile, treacherous mother had surged. She had tried to deprive him of this, to keep him from ever learning of his purpose in life! And so had Justin! The Turbo Ranger had pretended to be his friend out of pity, but hadn’t dared to teach him karate. No, just like Xena, he wouldn’t risk giving little Solan the means to actually stand up for himself! It was as Archon had told him: he was a tame pet to the teenager, and possibly a future victim. 

Or he could have been a victim, if Archon hadn’t aided him. As it was he had been on the verge of killing Justin when the Ranger had brought up the gladiator. That one had taken him completely off guard. Whatever had happened since then, Justin had saved his life that first day. He remembered the gratitude and thankfulness he had felt towards the blue-garbed adolescent . . . and he couldn’t bring himself to strangle the Ranger. 

He had dropped his prey to the ground, struggling with himself as Justin struggled to breath. What should he do? What could he do? 

The solution had soon come to him: after Justin had spared Alexander, the latter had agreed to not kill Justin or any of his team until no one else was left. He would do the same, saving Justin for last. 

He’d been about to go seek out the others when Justin had asked him about his birthright, and he had found himself eagerly relating the entire story. He had wanted Justin to understand who he really was, that he was far more than merely an ancient orphan boy. He had wanted the Ranger to be aware that the physical prowess he now possessed was rightfully his, not some unearned gift from Archon. 

He had wanted badly to share his story with another person. 

Not that doing so had made any difference to the way the Turbo Ranger treated him. Justin had continued to browbeat him, to try to get him to go back to being the Ranger’s subservient lesser.

That wasn’t going to happen. He was through with relying on others to protect him, and done placing his trust in those unworthy of it. From this day forward he would stand alone, and personally slay whoever tried to harm him!

Justin’s sheer gall in trying to make him feel guilty for his independence fueled his rage at the adolescent. Hadn’t he made it clear that he knew what Justin really thought of him? The Ranger couldn’t seem to accept that he had seen through the facade of friendship.

He had also seen Justin kill Morthos, thanks to Archon. Now that Justin had begun slaying competitors, why should he trust that the Ranger wouldn’t eventually turn on him? 

He did wonder what had prompted Justin’s decision, though. Archon had said Justin had learned that warriors must kill, but hadn’t gone into any detail. Maybe Justin had realized what he was doing would never work and so had decided to save himself? Or he might have killed Morthos because the latter hadn’t joined him after being beaten the first time. 

In any case he would have been in grave danger had he lost to the Turbo Ranger, but there had been little chance of that happening. In light of his victories today he couldn’t help wondering about Archon’s advice this morning to wait a few years before he faced his foul mother. Was that truly necessary? Yes, Xena was a great warrior, but so was he, and she would certainly be shocked and off-balance when she saw how he’d changed. 

Movement below and ahead caught his eyes and he paused on his current branch. He hadn’t expected to find anyone here, in one of the areas between the paths. Yet soldiering on toward him was Kenny, sword in hand. 

The Warrior Prince smiled wickedly. He could probably inflict a lethal wound from here with his chakram, but he had no intention of letting the lying traitor off that easily. Next he considering drawing his own sword, but dismissed the idea. He didn’t need a weapon to deal with Kenny, not now. 

He jumped to another branch, caught a third with his hands, and dropped to the ground about ten feet from the smaller boy. Kenny recoiled, his eyes widening with surprise and fear.

Rising the Warrior Prince slowly, confidently closed in on his foe, the anticipation already building within him. 

“Come on, Kenny. You were ready to cut my head off yesterday. What are you waiting for?” he asked mockingly as he approached.

The blond boy licked his lips nervously and didn’t reply. His sword was held in both hands far up and to the right, the knuckles visibly whitening. 

The posture was more suitable for one armed with a club than a sword, and the Warrior Prince took full advantage, darting in quickly and low. His left hand wrapped itself around Kenny’s wrists before the latter could move, his right first hammering at Kenny’s nose, followed by a knee to the stomach. As Kenny began to collapse he squeezed hard and twisted with his left hand. The blade dropped point first into the ground, but the tip wasn’t even fully buried by the time his right hand snaked around the handle. 

It was too fast and easy to really be any fun, but the contrast with yesterday was most pleasing. Looking down at the boy who would have killed him, nose broken and arms wrapped around the midsection, a sudden wave of fury washed over the Warrior Prince. He hated that he had ever been weak enough to be in danger from such a novice, but what he truly despised was the way Kenny had deceived and betrayed him. Wasn’t there anyone he could believe in, anyone who could be a true friend? 

He savagely kicked Kenny once, twice, three times, angrily pleased at the feel of the traitor’s ribs breaking. As Kenny tried to scream, he sneered, “Pathetic. You’re almost not worth killing. Almost.” 

Then he stomped on Kenny’s throat. The boy thrashed about wildly under his boot, but he held his position until at last his prey went limp. 

Stepping back he closed his eyes for a moment. He had actually done it; he had killed his first person. It was reassuring to know his enemy was gone, and coldly satisfying to have succeeded in taking his vengeance. Still, for all of the hatred and anger he had felt toward the other boy, killing Kenny hadn’t made him feel good, not the way that fighting did. Maybe it would have been different if he’d done it in battle, but killing someone helpless in cold blood felt . . . troubling. Wrong. 

He’d have to get used to it. 

Tossing the child’s sword disdainfully aside, the Warrior Prince returned to the trees and headed back to check one of the paths he’d passed over earlier on his way to where he’d found Justin. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Kenny’s corpse lay quietly for six and a half minutes before life abruptly returned to it. With a gasp he sat up, his memory prompting him to feel at his now-mended ribs and nose. 

His sword, where was his sword?!? Getting up he began searching the area. Surely his killer wouldn’t have taken his sword. He didn’t need it, and he thought Kenny was dead. There was no reason for him to-there! 

Snatching up the weapon Kenny clutched it thankfully. Now he could relax. As much as he could after having been murdered that way. 

Damn Solan! He was so close . . . he wouldn’t let this puffed-up, buffed-up bastard get in his way! Solan would go the same way the other muscle-boy had, the same way so many Immortals had. It made no difference how skilled or strong your opponent was, not if you could take him from behind. 

He had to get to that coveted position, and do it without letting Solan know he was alive. There was simply no other option. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

Justin thought he might be in more pain now than he’d ever been in before. He felt like a piece of meat which had been tenderized with a jack-hammer. 

Instead of standing up he had scooted back against a tree and summoned his Turbo Blade to his side. He didn’t don his helmet again. He merely sat and thought. 

What had he learned? Most obviously, that the Warrior Prince was one of the finest hand-to-hand combatants he had ever faced. Even his mentor, Tommy Oliver, would have great difficulty defeating the twelve year-old; there was no way Justin would be able to do it, especially in his current condition. 

In terms of swordsmanship this morning had shown that the Grecian boy was at least Alexander’s equal. Maybe, if Justin were in top form, he could outduel his former friend, but frankly he doubted it. 

So overall the chances of him being able to physically subdue the Warrior Prince were minute, and the chances of bringing back Solan verbally didn’t look to be much better. 

Archon had been much more subtle than Justin had anticipated. He hadn’t used amnesia, nor had he induced a generalized feeling of psychotic rage. Instead he seemed to have shifted a few key beliefs, presumably by altering specific memories. 

So the Warrior Prince was convinced that Justin had always looked down on him as an inferior and had merely feigned friendship with him. He also believed that Justin’s refusal to teach him karate was an attempt to keep him down, and he even seemed to think that Justin would have eventually killed him!

That last accusation was the most wounding, and the most absurd. The day they met he’d saved Solan from the gladiator! He had gathered everyone who didn’t want to kill into a team so they could defend each other! He had passed up numerous opportunities to murder other kids during his time here and his first words to the Warrior Prince had been an assurance that he would protect the boy. There was no reason to believe he would ever kill Solan! 

Or was there? Somehow the Warrior Prince had known about him killing Morthos. That action ran counter to everything he’d said and done since he got here, and it had taken place the day after Jo and Josh had fallen. Solan had known very well by then how unsuited he was to the tournament, and it had been clear that Justin’s plan wasn’t working. Plus on the third day Kenny must have met him and tried to kill him, judging by what he’d said earlier about the liar with the sword. And on top of everything else Solan was aware that Alexander had only promised to spare him until all of the aggressors were dead.

There was no one left for Solan to trust, to rely on, except Justin. What would seeing Justin kill Morthos do to that trust? Might he really assume that this meant Justin had given up on saving anyone but himself, throwing aside his principles and partners in an effort to win the tournament?

Wasn’t that in part what he’d done? Given up on his principles to save his own life?

Justin closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t think about that now. This wasn’t the time for self-flagellation. He was beaten up enough as it was, he thought, with an ironic bark of a laugh.

Okay, so there had been some reason for Solan to suspect him. Still, shouldn’t their friendship have allowed Solan to maintain faith in him? It was true that he felt sorry for Solan, the same way he would have felt sorry for anyone in this situation who couldn’t fight. More than pity, though, he had felt empathy for the younger boy, and liking. There had been a sense of connection between them that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. How could Solan doubt how much Justin had cared for him?

Of course through altered memories Archon could make Solan think whatever he wanted; that was the whole point. Although if specific memories had been changed, why had the Warrior Prince still remembered Justin saving him on the first day? That memory was what had caused him to release Justin and to promise in the mold of Alexander to leave the Turbo Ranger for last. 

Why would Archon leave a memory like that intact? It could only get in the way of the Warrior Prince performing in the tournament. It should have been the first recollection Archon modified! There was no reason for it to have been left untouched, unless . . . 

. . . unless Archon had never altered Solan’s memories at all. 

No. No, that couldn’t be! Archon HAD to have altered Solan’s memories! He had to have, because Justin had already eliminated virtually every other form of mental coercion he could think of. 

The Warrior Prince remembered his time as Solan, so there was no foreign implanted persona. He had not been subject to imposed psychosis because he had spared Justin more than once. That fact also disproved the hypothesis that he might be under the direct mental control of Archon, like a puppet. He had evidenced great rage, yes, but he had been able to control it, so he wasn’t the victim of an irresistible emotional state. 

Maybe he was under an imperfect mental and/or emotional influence, one he could at times overcome through willpower. Wasn’t that what Justin had hypothesized as the explanation for the Warrior Prince sparing everyone this morning?

Yet if that was indeed the case, Justin had to ask himself why Archon, a being capable of time and dimensional travel, had bothered using such a flawed form of mental control. 

He was grasping at straws, the adolescent realized bleakly. He was straining the facts to find a justification for the conclusion he wanted to arrive at, rather than letting the data dictate his conclusion.

At that moment he was reminded of the first science book he’d ever owned, one his parents had bought for him when he was in third grade. He’d loved that book when he was little; he still had it packed away somewhere in his closet at home. One section of it had explained the principle of Occam’s Razor, which was basically that the simplest explanation for a given phenomena was usually the correct one. 

The simplest explanation wasn’t that Solan was acting this way because of some devious manipulation of his psyche by Archon. The simplest explanation was that Solan was acting this way because it was how he had chosen to act. Of his own free will he had attacked Justin again and again, nearly killed the Ranger twice, and pounded him to a pulp with a smile! 

He almost couldn’t take it in. That Solan could act like that and treat him that way . . . Alexander’s scornful charge of his bias toward humans rang in his ears. He’d been right. He’d been right, and Justin had been wrong. Solan had betrayed him, just like Kenny had. The two of them had both used him. They’d taken advantage of his misguided faith in humanity for their own benefit. Then, as soon as the opportunity arose, they’d turned on him. 

Since the first night he had considered Kenny and Solan as symbolic of all the innocent people Power Rangers were sworn to protect. He’d tried to keep them safe from harm, and how did they reward him? How did they thank him? By stabbing him in the back! 

What was wrong with them? Didn’t they have any conscience, any feelings? If they really were emblematic of the people Justin had been defending as a Turbo Ranger, then why had he ever bothered to risk his life opposing Divatox in the first place?

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Alexander had followed the path Colin had blazed back to its beginning, to where the grass stood straight up. He continued on that way and eventually came to a four-way junction. Within that small area the grass was almost completely flat, much more matted down than if someone if someone had simply passed through from one of the traversed paths to another.

There had been a fight here. That would explain the condition of the grass, though it didn’t explain why there were no bodies. 

Which path should he follow? The question was answered when he heard a voice scream from the path down his right. 

“Solan! Solan!” 

Hurrying down that trail he soon spotted the Blue Turbo Ranger up ahead. He was walking-no, he was lurching onward. From the way he was moving and holding himself it was obvious that he had been badly beaten. 

“Justin!” he called, running to catch up. The teenager turned around, the Turbo Blade clenched tightly in his gloved hand. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. Clearly he was calling the traitor, but his tone wasn’t what Alexander had expected. Rather than a beseeching plea it had sounded alive with anger.

For an instant Alexander allowed himself to hope that Justin had seen sense. Then he firmly dismissed the idea. Justin had disappointed him too many times already. 

“I’m looking for Solan. I’m not going to just lie there and wait for him to come back after me! Not now that I know . . .” Justin trailed off. 

“Know what?” Alexander demanded. 

“You were right, okay?” the Turbo Ranger all but screamed. “It’s him! He’s doing what he wants to do!”

“You’ve fought him already,” Alexander noted. It was a statement, not a question. 

“Yes,” the Ranger breathed. “After he beat me he promised he would save me until last.” 

He had promised-? Then Alexander got it. Clenching his teeth loosed a snarl. So the traitorous, dishonorable human was imitating him! Was it mockery? Or did he think that copying what a real warrior had done would somehow make him one as well?

No matter. When Alexander caught up with him, he would show the imposter what a real warrior was. 

He slipped around Justin and saw that the grass on the path ahead was untouched. Not understanding he turned back to the Ranger.

“If he came this way, why isn’t the grass trampled down?” Alexander asked. 

“He didn’t walk on the path,” Justin explained. The near-hysteria he had displayed earlier was gone; the   
Turbo Ranger sounded old and tired. “He was jumping from tree branch to tree branch.”

Now that was unexpected. Alexander would have to be careful to watch the trees, lest the human try to slay him from above with that throwing blade. Such a move would be perfectly in keeping with what he would expect from the coward. 

Behind him Justin called out, “Alexander, wait! What are you doing?”

Over his shoulder he called, “I’m going to take care of our traitor, just as I took care of the vampire.”

“You killed the vampire?” Justin asked, and Alexander didn’t care for the faintly surprised tinge to his voice. 

“Yes, and Solan will soon join him,” Alexander promised. 

“I-I don’t think you should go looking for him,” Justin stated. 

Ah, now that was more like it. The irritated Klingon whirled to face the trailing teen. 

“Still trying to protect your fellow human, Justin?” he sneered. 

“I’m trying to protect you!” Justin surprisingly claimed. 

“What do you mean, ‘protect me’?” Alexander questioned, his eyes narrowing and his voice dropping. 

The Turbo Ranger stood silently, shifting from foot to foot. Then he blurted out, “I don’t think you should fight him. I don’t think you can beat him!” 

In a pulse of fury Alexander brought his bat’leth up and extended it, Justin’s neck in the center of the crescent formed by the blade. “I have promised to spare your life. Continue to insult me and even that promise will not protect you,” he hissed warningly. 

“I’m not trying to insult you,” Justin swore. “But I’ve fought him more than you have. He’s very, very good.” 

“So I should leave it to you to fight him?” Alexander asked sarcastically, lowering his bat’leth back to his side and gesturing to Justin with his left hand. “You think you can defeat him instead?” 

Justin seemed to sag, almost to deflate. “No,” he admitted quietly. “I don’t.” 

Why was Justin trying to attract Solan then, when he had always insisted that the preservation of life was one’s highest goal? The Turbo Ranger was repeatedly throwing him off balance here, and Alexander was getting sick of it. 

“Stay here then. I will find him and kill him.” 

Whirling back around Alexander stomped down the path, ignoring Justin’s calls to wait. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

It was the noise which had drawn him to them. Moving toward the sound of the yelling he slipped behind a tree adjoining the path he reached. Then he cautiously peered around it. 

Further down the path Alexander was proceeding at almost a run, while Justin limped along in his wake, crying after him and falling further and further behind.

The temptation to dash up behind Justin and finish him was strong indeed, but Kenny stayed his hand. It was evident from the way he moved that Justin was already injured, while the speed with which Alexander was walking suggested he was at full strength. If he killed Justin now and Alexander heard or saw him, he would be finished himself. He couldn’t beat Alexander in a straight-up fight, he couldn’t outrun the alien, and Alexander had already expressed his desire to cut Kenny into pieces, before Justin had presumably told the brown-skinned freak about Kenny’s miraculous “healing”. Sweet as Justin’s death would be, it wasn’t worth his own life, any more than MacLeod’s death would have been. 

Instead he would follow them. With luck they would run into Solan before he did, and in the melee that followed his enemies would reduce their numbers by themselves, potentially leaving him in a position to deliver the coup de grace to whoever won. 

Moving slowly so as not to overtake Justin and keeping to the edge of the path, Kenny trailed the Turbo Ranger. 

ΩΩΩΩ

Justin’s occasional cries came faintly to Alexander now, and that was a relief. He was weary of the Turbo Ranger’s blindness, his tendency to repeat his mistakes over and over again. He was also stung by Justin’s insult to his fighting prowess. How dare Justin question his ability? What did he expect Alexander to do, cower in some corner of this forest? Out of fear of SOLAN? He would prefer to die! 

Ahead of him the path opened up into a sizeable clearing, where the sun shone bright and the grass barely came up past the soles of his boots. 

Standing in the center of the clearing was Solan. 

Alexander charged forward with a howl, ready to doge the circular blade. Yet Solan did not throw his blade. He hadn’t even drawn his sword and rather than strike down an unarmed opponent Alexander halted a scant four and a half feet away. 

“Draw your weapon, coward,” he ordered. 

“I don’t need a weapon to deal with you either,” the insufferably arrogant and overconfident human boasted. “You can use yours, though. Maybe it will give you a chance against me.” 

Alexander came within a hairsbreadth of simply cutting down the worthless human. Instead he dropped his bat’leth and hurled himself upon the traitor, determined to slay Solan with his bare hands. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Justin started running as soon as he heard Alexander’s howl. He cursed himself for letting the alien get so far ahead of him, but Alexander had deliberately set a killing pace which he couldn’t match. He never should have said he didn’t think Alexander could beat Solan, but what else could he do? He needed Alexander to understand how dangerous Solan was. Despite the morning’s demonstration, Alexander still didn’t seem to realize that Solan was an opponent to be wary of, not simply an enemy to be annihilated. 

Justin ran as fast as he could in his exhausted, injured state. It took him a total of two minutes and thirty four seconds to reach the edge of the clearing. The sight which greeted him made him gasp. 

In his earlier fight with Justin the Warrior Prince had proceeded slowly, pulling his punches and purposely prolonging the conflict. With Alexander he had apparently held nothing back. 

The Klingon was staggering like a punch-drunk boxer. His left arm hung uselessly at his side, broken in at least two places that Justin could see. The cut on his forehead had reopened and blood was pouring steadily down into his eyes and across his face. It even looked as thought one of the bony ridges of the alien’s forehead had been cracked in half. 

As Justin watched in horror an apparently unmarked Solan unleashed a textbook-perfect roundhouse kick, which brought a wet, snapping sound from Alexander’s jaw. 

“STOP IT!” he screamed, charging toward the long-haired blond boy even as Alexander collapsed. 

Solan pivoted to face him and Justin slashed at his side and legs, blinking away the tears which threatened to blind him.

The Warrior Prince backpedaled before Justin’s Turbo Blade, seeming to dance just beyond its reach. Stopping at the far tree line, he adroitly evaded yet another cut and caught the Ranger’s wrist. He twisted until Justin was forced to drop the sword. Then he took hold of Justin’s shoulder with his right hand and used his hold to whip Justin bodily through the air and into the nearest tree. 

The incredible impact nearly knocked the adolescent unconscious. Blackness loomed at the edge of his vision, threatening to overwhelm him. With a great effort he managed to banish the darkness, only to find that he was once again lying helplessly at the feet of the Warrior Prince. The horrible familiarity of his position and situation made him feel like he was trapped in a repeating, never-ending nightmare. 

“Haven’t you learned yet that you can’t beat me, Justin?” the Warrior Prince proudly asked. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

This was it! This was the moment he’d been waiting for! 

Kenny quickly and quietly stole across the clearing. His heart was singing with anticipation and he could hardly believe his luck. He couldn’t have planned a more perfect situation if he’d tried! He could win this contest! He could kill the three of them, dispatch Colin, and return to Earth as a full-grown man! 

Kenny’s eyes were locked on his intended target’s broad back. One cut was all it would take. Next he would run Justin through. After that it would be child’s play to dispose of the alien, assuming Alexander wasn’t dead already. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Alexander had been critically injured, but his tough Klingon physiology was keeping him alive and aware, after a fashion. His mind was clouded by the overwhelming pain. All he knew was agony and the desire to kill whatever had done this to him. A blurry shape moved across his field of vision and, guided by the savage instincts of his ancestors, he attacked. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Kenny swerved to jog past the heap which was Alexander. His surprise was total when the Klingon snarled and grabbed him by the ankle. Kenny fell, stretched out full on the grass.

NO! He couldn’t be stopped, not now! Not when he was so close! Acutely aware that every second increased his odds of detection, Kenny frantically tried to pull free from Alexander, with no success. As he stared back at the alien teen’s ugly, bleeding face, Kenny saw everyone who had ever tried to thwart him, all those who had gotten in his way and kept him from what he wanted. Enraged beyond measure, the Immortal drew back his sword in a two-handed grip. Then he decapitated Alexander.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Through the space provided by Solan’s spread legs Justin saw Kenny fall. He witnessed Alexander’s final moment and when the Klingon’s severed head tumbled to the ground his horror and anguish burst forth from him in a scream. “Alexander!” 

ΩΩΩΩ

Alerted by Justin’s shout, the Warrior Prince glanced behind him and instantly took in the entire tableau: Alexander’s headless corpse, the impossibly alive Kenny surging up and rushing toward him. Shocked, confused, even afraid, he reacted wholly on instinct. His right hand dropped to his belt and an instant later his chakram was whistling through the air. Flung with lethal accuracy the razor-sharp disc cut cleanly through Kenny’s neck, finally putting an end to the ancient child Immortal. 

A hush fell over the clearing at the instant of Kenny’s death. A ghost of shapeless mist rose up from Kenny’s body and the unnatural stillness was shattered by a jagged bolt of lightning. It arced down out of the clear blue sky and discharged into the ground a scant ten feet from the remaining two contestants. A second bolt struck beyond Kenny’s cooling corpse and a third impacted at the eastern edge of the woods. The fourth bolt of lightning was attracted to the steel pommel of the Warrior Prince’s sheathed sword and earthed itself by passing through his frame. With a choked-off scream he collapsed, the electrical charge leaving him twitching uncontrollably. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Justin watched disbelievingly as the towering youth toppled forward like a felled tree beside him. The Blue Turbo Ranger stared down disbelievingly at the spasming, muscle-bound twelve year-old. 

His gaze immediately focused on the back of Solan’s neck, a place covered by the latter’s golden locks. 

He could strike at that spot and sever the spinal cord. With a single punch he could kill Solan. He could end this hideous travesty of a contest immediately, this instant! He could return home to his Dad. 

He raised his clenched, shaking fist to shoulder height.

One blow was all it would take. This would all be over. 

What was he waiting for? 

With all the strength he had left in him, with all the force of his fear, his disappointment, and his rage, he brought his fist smashing down on the side of the ground next to Solan’s neck. 

He couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t. 

Four second had passed since Solan was hit by lightning. As the Turbo Ranger slumped back the fifth second ticked by and a familiar voice came out of nowhere. 

“CONGRATULATIONS, FINALISTS!” boomed Archon. “THE LAST ROUND OF THE TOURNAMENT WILL COMMENCE TOMORROW, AFTER YOU HAVE BOTH HAD AN OPPORTUNITY TO REST AND RECOVER.”

And once again the Battlefield was empty of all save the dead. 

ΩΩΩΩ


	10. The Fourth Night

He had vowed not to interfere in the boy’s battles. He had provided as much aid and guidance as possible up to this point, and now it fell to his protégé to prove worthy of all that effort. He could not solve the boy’s challenges; that would be an obscenity almost as foul as the one he was seeking to undo. No, the son of Xena needed to prevail over the difficulties he would face on his own-or not at all.

He knew this, understood it, and accepted it-and still every bit of his self-control had been required to keep from acting when he saw the Ranger ready to deliver the death-blow. Fortunately the adolescent’s fundamental softness had won out, but the physical reprieve had only opened the door to a different danger, one which under the circumstances would have almost certainly claimed his pupil. 

So he had acted, prematurely ending the day’s conflict under the pretext that since they were the last two remaining contestants, the final battle would begin tomorrow. 

It was intervention of the sort he had sworn he would not do, but he could not allow everything to fall into ruin because of such a freak coincidence. The odds of being downed by the lightning from an Immortal Quickening were infinitesimal! 

He would not mollycoddle the boy again; he was righting a wrong here, not engaging in charity. The two would of course be kept apart tonight, since it would be unfair to allow Justin to speak where violence was prohibited, but tomorrow he would accept whatever outcome the new day brought. Now he would content himself with emphasizing and elaborating on the lesson he had intended for Kenny to teach. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

The shift from the forest floor to the top of his bed was over in a matter of seconds. It took considerably longer for the electrocuted preadolescent to unsteadily raise himself to a sitting position. “Archon!” he shouted. “W-what happened?”

“KENNY WAS AN IMMORTAL, A BEING ABLE RETURN TO LIFE EVEN AFTER BEING KILLED. THE ONLY WAY TO TRULY SLAY AN IMMORTAL IS TO BEHEAD ONE, AND WHEN AN IMMORTAL PERISHES THERE IS A LIGHTNTING-STORM OF THE KIND YOU SAW.”

The recovering lad absorbed this startling new information in silence. He had never head of Immortals before, but then neither had he heard of Power Rangers or Klingons until coming here.

“You never told me what he was!” the Warrior Prince pointed out accusatorily, his anger beginning to mount at the hideously familiar feeling of betrayal. 

“IT WAS NOT MY PLACE TO TELL YOU. I WILL NOT BE THERE TO WARN YOU OF EVERY ENEMY YOU WILL FACE IN YOUR LIFE. I URGED YOU YESTERDAY TO ADD CONFIDENCE TO YOUR CAUTION; I DID NOT SAY TO DISCARD CAUTION. YOU TOOK MANY RISKS TODAY: SPARING THE RANGER, LEAVING HIM UNTIL LAST, AND FACING THE KLINGON WITHOUT A WEAPON. YOU ARE ALREADY A PRINCE AMONG WARRIORS, BUT YOU MUST NOT ALLOW YOUR ABILITY TO BLIND YOU TO THE DANGER POSED BY YOUR FOES. YOU ARE STILL MORTAL, AND YOUR STRENGTH IS FAR FROM FULLY FLOWERED.” 

“REMEMBER TOO THE WAYS IN WHICH YOU ARE AS VULNERABLE AS ANY MAN, AND GUARD AGAINST THEM! KENNY COULD NEVER HAVE CLAIMED TO BE YOUR EQUAL IN COMBAT, BUT WHAT WOULD HAVE HAPPENED HAD HE SUCCEEDED IN CREEPING UP BEHIND YOU? ”

The Grecian boy flushed at the question and the implied rebuke. He had begun to feel almost invincible, and he had more than welcomed that feeling; he had basked in it! To have it so suddenly torn away from him by the day’s events was akin to a physical wound. 

Kenny’s return to life and sneaking up on him would have been enough by themselves to destroy his illusion of invulnerability. Much worse was what had happened after Kenny had died.

The thunderbolt which had struck him had stripped away everything he’d gained. In an instant he had been reduced to less than what he’d been before. Unable even to move, he could only lie there facedown in the grass, and wait to die.

And all the while (it had seemed to last for years) intense fear had been surging through him. He had truly believed that he would never feel such awful, gut-wrenching terror again, that he had left the very possibility behind along with his old, unmourned self. Now he knew otherwise, and the knowledge infuriated him. 

He had accepted Archon’s offer so he could become someone better than who he was! Someone strong and skilled, free from fear and shame! His transformation had improved him so much, yet it seemed he was not as far removed from the helpless weakling he had been as he thought. 

He hated that realization worst of all. 

He sat up slowly on the bed, his body aching and sore all over. Why was he feeling this way? It had to be some kind of aftereffect of being hit by Zeus’ spear. He hoped it would wear off soon; he had a long list of exercises he needed to perform to maintain his physical prowess. In the meantime he had a good idea for how to soothe the ache he was experiencing. 

Not deigning to respond to Archon he walked painfully to his bathroom. With the hesitance of one doing something still new to him, he sealed the tub’s drain and turned the metal knobs that controlled the hot and cold water. 

Bathing in hot water was an unheard of luxury in his village, and he wanted to enjoy it while he still could.

When the hollow was nearly filled the Warrior Prince pulled off his boots, briefs and cross-belt and slipped into the steaming water, submerging himself up to the neck. Some of the liquid rose and spilled over the sides, which it had not done yesterday morning. Then again, yesterday morning he hadn’t been the size he was now.

The immersion helped his body, but did nothing for his pysche. Still troubled over the day’s events he allowed his mind to flash back to yesterday, to the end of his old life and the beginning of his new one. . .

ΩΩΩΩΩ

He tumbled out of the portal onto a cold metal floor. Rising he saw that the room he was in was a tiny ten by ten square of dull, gray steel, with no apparent entrances or exits. Renewed apprehension welled within him as he glanced about the empty, dingy space.

“SO YOU BELIEVE YOU ARE AN UNSUITABLE CANDIDATE FOR MY CONTEST?” Archon asked. 

“Yes!” Solan shouted defiantly, his overwhelming frustration eclipsing any fear of the consequences of his response. 

“You know I can’t do this, gods damn you! I’m not a warrior! I don’t belong here!!” 

“YOU DO BELONG HERE, BUT YOU SHOULD NOT BE AS YOU ARE NOW.”

This bizarre assertion did nothing to calm the highly agitated preteen. “What in Hades’ name is that supposed to mean?!?” 

“YOU ARE AWARE THAT I HAVE TAKEN YOU AND THE OTHERS FROM DIFFERENT TIME PERIODS. KNOW THAT IT IS WITHIN MY POWER TO VIEW ALL THAT OCCURS IN THE TIME STREAM. I SAW THE GRAND DESTINY THE FATES HAD CHOSEN FOR YOU, AND I SAW YOU TREACHEROUSLY RIPPED AWAY FROM THAT PATH WHEN YOU WERE BUT A NEWBORN BABE. IT WAS THAT FIRST BETRAYAL WHICH LED TO YOUR LIFE IN THE CENTAUR VILLAGE AND YOUR DEATH AT THE HANDS OF DAHAK’S DAUGHTER HOPE-IF NOT FOR MY INTERVENTION.” 

So that was her name. Repressing a shudder at the memory of the girl who had almost killed him, Solan sought to dispel his rapidly growing confusion. “What are you talking about? What destiny, what betrayal?”

“BEFORE YOU WERE BORN THE ORACLE AT DELPHI FORETOLD YOUR FUTURE TO YOUR PARENTS. SHE TOLD THEM THAT UNDER THEIR CARE YOU WOULD GROW TO BECOME THE GREATEST WARRIOR THE WORLD HAD EVER SEEN. EVEN BY YOUR CURRENT AGE YOU WOULD BE KNOWN THROUGHOUT GREECE AS THE WARRIOR PRINCE AND FEW MORTAL MEN WOULD BE A MATCH FOR YOU. 

“That’s insane!” Solan burst out. “You’re mocking me with your lies! I could never be like that!”

“WHY DO YOU DOUBT WHAT YOU ARE CAPABLE OF, SOLAN? YOU ARE THE SON OF TWO GREAT WARRIORS IN THEIR OWN RIGHT. WHY SHOULD YOU DISBELIEVE THE TRUTH THAT YOU WOULD HAVE SURPASSED THEM, WOULD HAVE BECOME GREATER STILL?”

“BECAUSE I’M NOT!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. Tears trembled at the corners of his eyes. How much longer would Archon go on? What was the point of taunting him like this? 

“I can’t fight! I’m useless in a battle! The only reason I’m still alive is because Justin and Jo helped me!”

“YOUR IGNORANCE OF THE ART OF WAR IS THE FAULT OF YOUR BETRAYER. SHE WAS THE ONE WHO THWARTED YOUR DESTINY, CONDEMNING YOU TO A BRIEF, LONELY EXISTENCE AMONG THE CENTAURS.”

“THAT TRAITOR WAS YOUR MOTHER.”

Solan gave a scornful, bitter laugh. No other response was warranted. 

“SHE WAS DISPLEASED BY THE ORACLE’S PROPHECY, JEALOUS OF THE POWER AND GLORY THAT WAS TO BE YOURS. SHE HAD NO INTENTION OF BEING OUTSTRIPPED BY HER OWN OFFSPRING. SHE AND YOUR FATHER QUARRELED VIOLENTLY OVER THE MATTER AND REFUSED TO SEE EACH OTHER. THEIR SEPARATION GAVE DAGNINE THE OPPORTUNITY TO MURDER YOUR FATHER. AFTER BORIAS WAS SLAIN YOUR MOTHER FELT FREE TO ABANDON YOU TO THE CENTAURS.”

“Why didn’t she just kill me?” Solan asked sarcastically. 

“THOUGH IT WAS OUTWEIGHTED BY HER PRIDE AND AMBITION, SHE DID FEEL SOME AFFECTION FOR YOU. SHE DIDN’T WANT TO TAKE YOUR LIFE, ONLY TO DEPRIVE IT OF PURPOSE AND MEANING. SHE KNEW WITHOUT THE TRAINING SHE AND YOUR FATHER WOULD HAVE GIVEN YOU, YOU WOULD NEVER RISE ABOVE HER. NO ONE IN THE WORLD WOULD THEN BE ABLE TO EQUAL THE WARRIOR PRINCESS.” 

“XENA?!? You’re saying that XENA is my mother?” Solan demanded in shock. That couldn’t be true! And then he actually thought about it. For the first time, he considered the possibility that Xena was his mother. 

He remembered the bond he had felt with her once he had stopped hating the tall, dark-haired woman. He remembered the feeling of contentment he had when she had sung to him. He remembered how much the thought of traveling with her had thrilled him, even in the tragic wake of Kaleipus’ death. He remembered how she had assured him his mother would not want him to be a warrior . . . 

“YES, SOLAN” Archon answered with an obscene gentleness. “XENA IS YOUR MOTHER.”

Solan tried to deny it and failed, the words dying in his throat. His thoughts were centered on the similarity of his and Xena’s facial features. They even had the same eyes! Why hadn’t he noticed that before? Looking back he could see other things he had missed, subtle hints which he had failed to catch. Incredible as it seemed at first, there was substantial reason to believe this. But what ultimately convinced him was not his mind, but his heart. Deep inside, he knew that Xena was indeed his mother.

And she had never told him. He had opened up to her, spoken of how he wished he could have known his mother, and she had not said one word. He had valued her as a friend, but to know that she was his mother, the woman he had longed to meet . . . it would have meant so much to him!

How could she have kept this from him? Worse, how could she have visited him only twice in twelve years? Had she felt so little for him? The possibility went through him like a spear, making him catch his breath in sudden pain. 

“But she rescued me from Dagnine,” he protested in a small, dazed voice. “She tried to keep me safe from Callisto. We were going to travel together!” 

“AS I SAID, SHE DID FEEL AFFECTION FOR YOU. ONCE THE DANGER THAT YOU WOULD GROW BEYOND HER WAS PAST SHE WAS WILLING TO PROTECT YOU, AS ONE WOULD A FAVORED PET. IN DEPRIVING YOU OF THE ABILITY TO PROTECT YOURSELF, HOWEVER, SHE SEALED YOUR DOOM. EVEN IF YOU HAD EVADED HOPE, YOU WOULD NOT HAVE LONG SURVIVED TRAVELING WITH YOUR MOTHER. ATROPOS WOULD HAVE CUT YOUR THREAD WITHIN A MONTH.”

Affection. His mother, the woman he had dreamed of being with, had felt affection for him. The awful weight of that revelation was too much for the emotionally fatigued boy to bear. Falling forward onto his hands and knees he broke down sobbing, releasing years of pain. He wept for the perfect image of his mother which he had carried with him all his life, now shattered into a thousand pieces. Drawing in a breath he literally howled his grief to the unseen heavens.

When at last he finished he felt drained, as tired as he had ever been. Inside he was barren and lifeless, filled with a kind of bleak hopelessness. Even the angry, frustrated self-loathing he had felt earlier could not begin to compare to this. He had come to his lowest point, his emotional nadir. 

Archon had remained silent all throughout Solan’s ordeal and, caught in the throes of his own misery, the twelve year-old had virtually forgotten about his captor. He was forcefully reminded of the other’s presence when Archon called his name. Though startled, he didn’t react. He kept his gaze on the floor, as if the secrets of the universe were to be found in that smooth, gray surface. Repetition of his name brought no response. 

“SOLAN, I UNDERSTAND THAT THE TRUTH COMES AS A GREAT SHOCK TO YOU, BUT YOU NEEDED TO BE TOLD. YOU MUST KNOW OF THE LIFE YOU WOULD HAVE LED WITHOUT YOUR MOTHER’S BETRAYAL.” 

Now the bowed head slowly rose, revealing a flushed, tear-streaked face and reddened, watery eyes. “Why?” he whispered. “Why did I have to know? What purpose did it serve except to feed your cruelty?” The ashes in his heart were stirring, igniting into a cold wrath, a hate as icy as it was implacable. 

“Are you satisfied now, Archon? Was my pain enough to bring you the pleasure you sought? Have you hurt me sufficiently with the knowledge that my mother did not love me? Or is there more? Will you torture me in other ways before you finally allow me the death you stole from me? Why didn’t you let me die on Earth? Why did you have to bring me here?!?” 

“I TOOK NO JOY IN YOUR SUFFERING, SOLAN. I SAVED YOUR LIFE BECAUSE I WAS CURIOUS TO SEE HOW FAR YOUR NATIVE ABILITY WOULD TAKE YOU WITHOUT TRAINING TO HONE AND DEVELOP IT. YOU WERE THE UNCERTAIN ELEMENT IN MY TOURNAMENT.”

“So you took me just to see how long I would last before dying?”

“I GAVE YOU A CHANCE TO PRESERVE YOUR LIFE, TO FIGHT FOR YOUR SURVIVAL.”

“What chance? You knew that I didn’t know how to fight!”

“YES, I OVERESTIMATED WHAT YOU WOULD BE CAPABLE OF WITHOUT THE PROPER TRAINING. STILL, YOU DID WELL IN ATTEMPTING TO SEEK OUT SUCH TRAINING; IT IS A PITY THAT JUSTIN REFUSED TO TEACH YOU. IN ANY CASE, I HAVE THE POWER TO MAKE YOU WHOLE IF YOU WISH.”

“I weary of your riddles, Archon. Tell me plainly what you mean, or be done with me.” 

“YOUR MOTHER’S CHOICES DENIED YOU THE YEARS OF INTENSE TRAINING YOU WOULD HAVE RECEIVED IF YOU HAD BEEN PROPERLY RAISED BY HER AND BORIAS. IF YOU WISH IT, I WILL WITHIN A FEW HOURS BESTOW UPON YOU THE PHYSICAL AND MENTAL BENEFITS OF A DECADE’S WORTH OF INSTRUCTION IN THE ARTS OF WAR. I WILL GIVE YOU THE POWER WHICH HAS BEEN STOLEN FROM YOU. I WILL MAKE YOU WORTHY OF THE TITLE “WARRIOR PRINCE”.”

“W-Why would you do that? What do you want in return?” Solan asked warily.

“THERE IS NO PRICE, SOLAN. I OFFER THIS GIFT AS A REWARD FOR YOUR DETERMINATION IN MAKING IT THIS FAR, AND FOR THE COURAGE YOU DISPLAYED IN FACING A BOY YOU KNEW WAS MANY TIMES STRONGER THAN YOU. THEN, TOO, I HAVE SEEN YOU AT YOUR WORST; I WOULD ENJOY THE CHANCE TO OBSERVE YOU AT YOUR BEST. OF COURSE THE CHANGE WOULD NOT BE PAINLESS, BUT YOU COULD ENDURE THE PROCESS WITHOUT LASTING HARM. THERE WOULD ALSO BE A TEST OF YOUR ABILITIES, WHICH I AM CERTAIN YOU WOULD PASS. WHAT IS YOUR ANSWER?”

“What if I refuse?”

“THEN I WILL RETURN YOU AT ONCE TO THE BATTLEFIELD AND YOU MAY CONTINUE IN THE CONTEST AS YOUR MOTHER MADE YOU. THE CHOICE IS YOURS.” 

The devastated Grecian pulled himself together as best he could and considered what he should do. His first instinct was to reject Archon’s aid. He didn’t want to take anything from the foul creature who had subjected him and the other kids to the torments of these past few days. If he declined, though, nothing would change. He would remain the youngest one there, a child unskilled in any form of combat, a burden to his allies and an amusement to his enemies. Like that traitor Kenny! If he went back as he was, Kenny would surely kill him. Even if Archon was kind enough to place him somewhere else, away from Kenny, his main problem remained the same: He couldn’t defend himself, and he couldn’t stand to go on like that any further. He was sick to death of being afraid all the time, of knowing each second in the Battlefield could be his last. Even worse was feeling so powerless, like a little ewe lamb in a circle of wolves. Kenny’s cruel words echoed in his memory. “You’re almost not worth killing. Almost.” 

Kenny would have killed him already if Archon hadn’t taken him away. Which just went to prove the blond boy’s point, Solan admitted in self-disgust. It was pathetic for him to have to rely on others to rescue him, yet it seemed that was all he had done his whole life. No wonder Alexander held him in contempt. 

Given the amount of assistance he’d already accepted, why should he draw the line here? Especially if taking the offer meant he would finally be able to stand up for himself in the future? Archon had said he would have been a famous fighter by this age if he had been raised by his parents.

Thinking of his parents gave him another reason to say yes. This was what his father had always wanted for him, and what his mother had never wanted. She had been willing to forsake him and ruin his entire life rather than see him trained as a warrior.

Xena had effectively deprived him of both his natural parents. Two years ago her actions had persuaded him to bury his detestation of her and to give up on the very idea of becoming a warrior. Her return this year had cost him his adopted father, slain by her enemy Callisto. He would have died as well if Archon hadn’t brought him into this strange gladiatorial game, where his own impotence had been brought home to him time and again. 

As he looked back at what his mother’s jealousy and fear had cost him, Solan felt his past hatred of Xena return and multiply tenfold. All of the unhappiness in his life could be traced back to his mother’s callous betrayal. His terrifying near-death experiences here were ultimately Xena’s fault, for having kept him from learning the combat skills he needed to survive. She had even encouraged him not to become a warrior! 

This experience had opened his eyes to the flaws of that decision. Spurning the ways of battle only made you vulnerable to those who embraced them. He should never have renounced the way of the warrior. In doing so he had defied reason and common sense, had unknowingly defied the Fates themselves.

Here was his chance to correct that error. He had to take it. 

Ignoring a twinge of foreboding, Solan voiced his acquiescence. “I accept your offer, Archon. Please, make me the warrior I could have been.”

“EXCELLENT,” Archon said, and there was no mistaking the satisfaction in his odd voice. 

“PLEASE DISROBE AND LIE DOWN.”

Embarrassed at the thought of taking his clothes off before Archon, Solan was slow to comply with the order. Eventually he did remove his garments and piled them in a small heap, crowned with the headband Kaleipus had given him. He then stretched out on the floor, the cool metal almost immediately raising goose-bumps on his arms, back and legs.

“REMEMBER THAT THE DISCOMFORT YOU ARE ABOUT TO EXPERIENCE WILL BE TEMPORARY. THE IMPROVEMENTS WILL BE PERMANENT.” 

These less than reassuring words were followed by shooting pains throughout Solan’s body and a terrible burning sensation. At the same time his mind was immersed in a flood of new information, pouring in too quickly for him to comprehend. Though frightening, disorienting and confusing, it was actually a welcome distraction from the intensity of the agony. 

Solan tried to scream, but he had lost control of himself. His eyesight blurred and darkened as he entered a semiconscious state. When full consciousness finally returned his first thought was of escape. 

He surged up at once, but froze when he saw another person a few feet in front of him. Then he realized that the gloomy gray walls, floor and ceiling had been replaced with polished, mirrored surfaces. He was looking at himself, but the image he beheld was that of a stranger.

The most noticeable alteration was that his muscles had grown beyond belief, easily tripling in size. His pecs were a pair of small boulders, joining together shoulders which seemed two yards wide and overshadowing cobblestone abs and wing-like lats. His legs were thick as tree-trunks with muscle and his arms were enormous, his biceps bigger than most men’s calves.

Although he had deeply loathed the contestant who had killed Jo, Solan had also envied the other boy’s amazing build. Now his own physique was even more awe-inspiring than that of his fallen nemesis. Slowly he begun to genuinely smile as he took stock of the other visible changes he had undergone.

His skin was deeply tanned, approximating the color of bronze. His cheekbones were more prominent and his jaw was firmer. His face had lengthened and had lost much of its childlike roundness. He looked like a man rather than a boy, especially with the extra couple of inches of height he had gained. 

The splendor of his new form made Solan think of the story of Narcissus, the boy so gorgeous that he had fallen in love with his own reflection. For the first time Solan understood how that could be so. He was all but entranced by his utter physical perfection. The embarrassment he had felt before about being naked was gone; it was clear he had nothing to be ashamed of and a great deal to be proud of. 

“WITH THE CORRECT FOOD AND EXERCISE THIS IS THE DEGREE OF DEVELOPMENT YOU WOULD HAVE ACHIEVED. SINCE YOUR OLD GARB WOULD NOW NO LONGER SUIT YOU, I HAVE PREPARED MORE APPROPRIATE CLOTHING.”

Ahead of Solan the wall split horizontally and a shelf holding several objects extended itself into the room at waist height. Moving forward he saw a pair of leather boots and breeches sitting on the shelf along with a thin leather cross-belt. There was a scabbard with a sword attached to the rear junction of the cross-belt and a chakram hung from a metal hook at the torso belt. 

The presence of the weapons surprised him at first, especially the chakram. Chakrams were his mother’s signature weapon. He hadn’t so much as touched one in his life. Yet the sight of that circle of steel brought forth memories of untold hours of practice. Though he knew the recollections to be false, they seemed as real as to him as any of his other memories. He lifted up the chakram and was able to tell at once that it was flawlessly balanced. It felt familiar in his hand and his mind insisted he was exceedingly proficient in its use. 

Swallowing hard, he replaced the chakram on its hook and turned to examine the sword. Grasping the pommel he half-unsheathed the blade and recognized it immediately. It was Borias’ sword, the only thing of his father’s that he had ever owned. When he had decided not to be a warrior he had discarded the weapon, casting it into the lake. Archon must have retrieved it for him. The symbolism of the sword’s return was not lost on Solan, though this affected him less than the realization that he knew exactly how to wield it. 

He remembered so much now that he had never known before. He remembered years upon years of training in archery, acrobatics, strategy, strength and endurance, horse-riding, javelin throwing, swordsmanship, chakram throwing, wrestling, hunting and hand-to-hand combat. 

This was all in line with Archon’s offer, but it was difficult for him to believe that he had truly acquired all of these skills. He needed to experiment, to see if he could actually do everything he “remembered” doing.

Solan slipped on his new attire, bemused at how well it fit and how comfortable it was. The cross-belt didn’t restrict his movements in the slightest, nor did it conceal his extremely formidable physique. He turned toward the unbroken wall at the left and again marveled at his new appearance. His first defiant thought was that he looked to be every bit as much of a warrior as Xena did. Now it was time to see if he could match her on more than a superficial level. 

He concentrated first on hand-to-hand combat. His mind contained an exhaustive amount of knowledge on the subject, derived from a number of different martial systems, and he had memories of winning dozens of fights using his own personal style of fighting. He shadow sparred against his image, trying out a variety of kicks, strikes and blocks. It all came so easily to him, as though he had practiced these techniques all of his life. He executed each move correctly and with blinding speed. His natural quickness had developed into something greater, making him swifter than the wind. In a fight his blows would land almost before his enemies saw them coming. 

And they would land with bone-crushing force. It was fairly obvious that he had grown far stronger than he had been before. He “recalled” doing ever more strenuous daily work-outs for the purpose of improving and strengthening his primary weapon, his body. Now even his smallest, most casual movements made him acutely aware of the physical might he possessed. He wished ardently that there was something in the room he could use to test his newfound brawn, an inanimate object for him to lift, hurl or break. He remembered Jo talking about the heavy metal bars with weights in the exercise room and resolved to go there as soon as he had the chance. 

After another few minutes Solan concluded his close combat practice. He had verified that his level of skill was indeed in accord with his new memories. This proof of his lethal prowess thrilled and delighted him beyond measure. He basked in the wonderful realization that his days of being a defenseless victim were finally over. No one would ever be able to kick him around again! The next person who tried would get a firsthand demonstration of how deadly he was. 

“IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO EXPLORE YOUR ABILITIES FURTHER I CAN GIVE YOU A LARGER AREA IN WHICH TO DO SO,” Archon declared. 

The walls and ceiling began retreating, expanding the room from a ten by ten cube to a fifty by fifty chamber. Solan’s old clothes also vanished, though their owner failed to note their loss. He was too busy looking around. The vast amount of space which had become available clinched his decision as to what to do next.

He would try out his agility and coordination. His mother was well-known for her use of acrobatics and he had seen her in action while she was rescuing him from Dagnine. He easily performed all of the leaps, flips and somersaults he had seen her do, adding his own thoroughly impressive improvised moves. He soared through the air like an eagle and really did feel as though he were flying. It was an exhilarating experience and upon its conclusion he laughed aloud with joy. 

Next he took up his chakram and flung it at the wall opposite the shelf. It struck his reflection’s neck, exactly where he had aimed it, ricocheted off the wall on the left and sped straight back toward him. He caught it without difficulty, his reflexes as sharply honed as the circular blade itself. He threw it again and again it struck his target. He found he was able to hit whatever he aimed at, and was usually able to make the disc return to him. Satisfied he put the chakram back on its hook and drew out his father’s sword.

The two foot long bastard sword felt light and alive in his hand. He went through a complex attack routine with it, wielding the flashing blade as though it were a part of him. Nothing further was needed for him to be certain of his mastery. With this weapon in his possession he would prevail over any opponent. Reaching back he smoothly reinserted the sword into its scabbard. 

“A STRIKING DISPLAY,” Archon acknowledged. “TELL ME, HOW DOES IT FEEL TO GO FROM THE PUNY CHILD YOU WERE TO THE FORMIDABLE FIGHTER YOU WERE MEANT TO BE?”

The question was followed by a long pause as the subject of the inquiry searched his soul for the answer. 

“It feels right,” he replied. And it did. His sense of disbelief and dislocation had worn away as his impromptu practice session progressed. Confirming what he was capable of had made his new memories less alien and artificial to him, more familiar and believable. It had begun to seem almost natural for him to be able to do the things he had done. He knew that this was the way he was supposed to be; it was how he had been before which was the aberration.

“IT IS RIGHT, YOUR RIGHT,” Archon insisted. “THIS IS WHAT YOU ARE ENTITLED TO, SOLAN. THE HOUR IS VERY LATE AND SOON I WILL LEAVE YOU TO REST. FIRST, THOUGH, I WISHED TO TELL YOU OF THE TEST YOU WILL FACE ON THE MORROW.”

Brief incomprehension was followed by a recollection of Archon mentioning a test of his abilities as part of the price for them. Another broad smile brightened his comely visage. After seeing what he could do today he had trouble envisioning a test which would present any real difficulties for him.

“SIMPLY RETURNING YOU TO THE TOURNAMENT AS YOU ARE WOULD PRESENT YOU WITH AN UNFAIR ADVANTAGE OVER THE REMAINING FOUR CONTESTANTS. JUSTIN, ALEXANDER, KENNY AND COLIN MUST BE GIVEN AN OPPORTUNITY TO END THE THREAT YOU POSE. AFTER BREAKFAST YOU WILL FACE THEM IN COMBAT, ALL AT ONCE. YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO KILL ANY OF THEM, BUT THEY WILL BE ATTEMPTING TO KILL YOU. IF YOU SUCCEED IN SUBDUING THEM, THE TOURNAMENT WILL RESUME. ” 

Momentarily caught off guard by the surprising form of the test, the sobered youth considered the implications. 

Previously he would have been terrified at the thought of facing four opponents simultaneously. Now, however, the knowledge of how much he had learned and changed acted as a bulwark against his fear. 

He had “memories” of fighting and winning against multiple opponents to draw upon for solace, in addition to the welcome new sense of pride and self-confidence he had gained. Part of him actually looked forward to the fight, to demonstrating how powerful he had become. 

Yet he still couldn’t help wondering if he was overestimating himself. Was it truly possible for him to survive taking on Justin, Alexander, Colin, and Kenny at the same time? 

Wait, who was Colin?

“Who is Colin?” he questioned Archon.

“COLIN IS THE VAMPIRE YOU WERE WARNED OF THIS MORNING.”

“The vampire?” Solan asked his voice edged with uneasiness as the despised feeling of fear began to get the better of him. Tales credited vampires with so many supernatural abilities. To beat one down without killing it while he was beset by three other warriors . . . 

“DO YOU DOUBT YOUR ABILITY TO OVERCOME HIM?” Archon inquired. Not giving Solan a chance to answer Archon continued speaking. “BEING WARY OF WHAT YOUR OPPONENTS ARE CAPABLE OF IS A TRAIT WHICH WILL SERVE YOU WELL, ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY ARE MORE THAN HUMAN. DO NOT DISMISS YOUR CAUTION, BUT TRUST IN YOURSELF AND YOUR ABILITIES. EVEN WITH THE DISADVANTAGES YOU MUST LABOR UNDER, YOU ARE MORE THAN A MATCH FOR THE YOUR COMPETITORS.”

Archon’s reassurance heartened Solan as he thought about each of the individuals he would soon be confronting.

He knew nothing about the vampire. He could only be cautious and keep faith that he would be able to overcome it. 

Then there was Kenny. He had never seen Kenny fight, but the image of Kenny holding that bloodied sword over him was one which had been seared forever into his memory. Looking back on that moment with new eyes he immediately noted that Kenny had held his blade incorrectly, as though it were an ax to chop wood. His demonstration of so basic a flaw made it unlikely that Kenny had any real training in swordsmanship. 

Thus the most difficult part of facing Kenny might well be keeping himself from killing the lying traitor. After what had happened this morning he felt like tearing the blond boy’s head off.

Next came Alexander, whom he had never seen fight either. He did know, however, that Justin had defeated the Klingon, and he hungered to do the same. Alexander hadn’t bothered to mask his disdain and contempt for Solan, and it would be a pleasure to put the arrogant alien in his place. He would show Alexander who the better warrior was once and for all! 

That left Justin. He had watched Justin fight and at the time the experience had left him awed, admiring, and envious. Analyzing what he had seen again from his newly enlightened perspective brought none of those feelings. Yes, Justin was good . . . but he, Solan, was markedly better. 

Drawing such a bold conclusion from one brief incident was dangerous, yet the truth of his judgment seemed inescapable. He was incontestably much faster and almost certainly two or three times stronger than Justin. Even without those advantages his new knowledge of swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat led him to believe he could’ve bested the trident-bearing boy in less than half the time it had taken the Ranger to do so. 

Justin, however, was the only one of the four kids left whom he didn’t want to hurt. The teenager had been his friend and protector from the start, and although he had ceased needing anyone’s protection, friends were still something to be treasured. The Ranger’s refusal to instruct him had hurt, but with Archon’s unexpected assistance he had nonetheless surpassed Justin in the practice of the arts of war. He had every intention of making that fact crystal clear to the Turbo Ranger, perhaps by engaging the older boy in a practice battle. After he’d had a chance to thoroughly assess the teenager’s style of combat he might even offer Justin a few tips on how to improve. Still, vigorous sparring was as far as he meant for it to go; he did not wish to truly fight his friend. 

And he wouldn’t have to, he realized with a measure of relief. Why would he? Justin would never try to kill him! They were friends, and the brown-haired teen wouldn’t even kill his enemies! Justin would refuse to take part in this test. Involuntarily the corners of Solan’s mouth turned upward in a relaxed grin. 

“WHAT ARE YOU THIKING OF?” Archon asked, apparently reading his expression.

“Only that Justin won’t participate in this. He won’t try to kill me,” Solan explained confidently. 

“ARE YOU SO SURE?”

“Of course I am! Justin wouldn’t do that; he hasn’t killed anyone here.” 

“BUT HE HAS. BEHOLD!”

Before him the mirrored wall ceased showing his reflection and instead displayed Justin, lying on a mountainside. Over him stood the warlock Morthos, a bloody wound in his chest and Justin’s Turbo Blade clenched in his hands. Morthos dropped to one knee and Solan gasped as he saw Justin plunge a wavy-bladed dagger into Morthos’ heart. 

Then the image vanished and Solan saw only his own stunned, changed countenance staring back at him. Justin had killed someone! Did that mean he’d abandoned his plan? Had he decided to try to win the tournament after all? 

“JUSTIN HAS FINALLY REALIZED THAT A WARRIOR MUST KILL. IT IS THEREFORE FORTUNATE THAT YOU NO LONGER HAVE TO RELY ON HIM FOR PROTECTION.”

Was Archon implying . . . ? No, Justin wouldn’t hurt him!

“He wouldn’t hurt me!” Solan insisted, clinging to that certainty.   
“HE WOULD NOT IMMEDIATELY SEEK TO HARM YOU, NO,” Archon conceded. “TO HIM YOU HAVE ALWAYS BEEN SOMEONE TO PITY, A PRIMITIVE WHOLLY DEPENDENT UPON YOUR BETTERS FOR YOUR SAFETY. IN HIS EYES YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN HIS TAME PET, SUSTAINED ONLY BY HIS GENEROUSITY.”

Was-was that really how Justin viewed him? It was accurate, he conceded with bitter self-loathing, but he had thought the Turbo Ranger was his friend! Then again, he had thought the same thing about Xena, hadn’t he? 

“WHY DO YOU THINK HE WOULD NOT EVEN TRY TO TEACH YOU KARATE? HE TOLD YOU THERE WAS NO TIME TO TEACH YOU ANYTHING OF VALUE, BUT WITH YOUR NATURAL TALENT YOU COULD HAVE QUICKLY GRASPED MUCH WHICH WOULD HAVE AIDED YOU. JUSTIN WRONGLY DEEMED YOU INCAPABLE OF LEARNING, BUT MORE THAN THAT, HE DID NOT WANT YOU TO LEARN! HE DID NOT DESIRE FOR YOU TO GROW AND DEVELOP OUTSIDE OF THE PLACE HE HAD ASSIGNED TO YOU, FOR FEAR THAT YOU MIGHT BECOME A THREAT.”

Just like Xena, Solan thought, his fists clenching. Once more he had given his trust and friendship to someone unworthy of either, another arrogant false friend who wished to keep him weak and helpless. The sharp, aching hurt he felt at the revelation was quickly drowned out by a rising tide of hate. 

“I FEAR HE WOULD HAVE EVENTUALLY TAKEN YOUR LIFE TO SECURE HIS OWN VICTORY IN THE TOURNAMENT. NOW WHEN HE SEES YOU AGAIN HE WILL SEEK TO PLACE YOU BACK UNDER HIS CONTROL. HE WILL NOT ACCEPT THE COMPETENT, INDEPENDENT INDIVIDUAL YOU HAVE BECOME. HE WILL TRY TO MAKE YOU RETURN TO WHO YOU WERE AND ONCE MORE SUBMIT TO HIM AS HIS HUMBLE, OBEDIENT FOLLOWER. WILL YOU? ARE YOU STILL THE SAME FEEBLE, SUBSERVIENT SOLAN THAT HE KNEW?”

“NO!” the Grecian boy bellowed furiously. “I’ve grown far beyond what I was! The Solan that he knew is dead; I am the Warrior Prince!”

The words were voiced without forethought, springing entirely from his pain, rage and injured pride, but they were nonetheless true. Today he had experienced a physical and mental rebirth. He had been given a superb new body along with the skills gained from a decade spent learning the ways of battle. For all practical purposes he was the boy his parents would have raised, and rightfully deserved the title he had claimed. He was worthy of it now, just as Archon had promised, and it was a much more fitting sobriquet than the name his despised mother had given him. 

“WELL SAID, WARRIOR PRINCE!” Archon complimented him. “THERE IS NO NEED FOR YOU TO BIND YOURSELF TO OTHERS AND AGAIN COURT BETRAYAL. YOU HAVE GAINED WHAT YOU NEED TO STAND ALONE, AND TO TRIUMPH! ARE YOU READY, THEN, TO SLAY THE COMPETITORS WHO HAVE TREATED YOU AS A LESSER BEING?”

Archon was talking about winning the tournament, something which truthfully hadn’t even occurred to him. He’d been so busy rejoicing in his new self that he hadn’t thought beyond the proposed test. Yet . . . if he could indeed withstand his rivals’ united assault, as he hoped, then what chance did any of them have against him individually? He loomed head and shoulders above them now, literally and figuratively. All of this time they had looked down on him in amused contempt, but soon they would be forced to look up to him in frightened respect, knowing that he could easily crush them. He had the physical prowess to do it-and moreover he wanted to do it! 

Let them learn what it felt like to be helpless! Let them experience the terror of facing a far superior foe! Let them cower before his mighty wrath! He had become his true self at last, and he would strike down all who dared to stand against him! 

Including Justin! He wouldn’t wait for his condescending “friend” to turn on him; tomorrow Justin would discover exactly how ferocious his “tame pet” had become! 

He would triumph in this tournament, but even that was only a prelude to his real goal: Xena. In her unforgivable envy and pride she had done her best to ruin his life; the pain and suffering he had endured throughout his twelve years was almost entirely due to her meddling! For the many wrongs she had done to him she would die, and die horribly. Her last sight would be of her own warrior son slaughtering her without mercy! 

“Yes,” he answered in a voice resolute with conviction. “I’m ready.”

ΩΩΩΩΩ

The long soaking had eased the ache in the Warrior Prince’s muscles, but his mental and emotional disquiet persisted. For the moment he continued to take refuge in reminiscing. 

Archon had opened a portal back to his room and apologetically informed him that it was nearly midnight. The transformation process had taken over seven hours. He had missed dinner, yet he hadn’t felt hungry, or tired. Archon explained that his biological needs had been met during the procedure, but still advised that he get some rest. To facilitate that goal the entity had provided him with what looked like a small pebble. Archon had claimed this “pill” would help him get to sleep if swallowed. 

Whatever it had been, the Warrior Prince mused, it had worked quickly. He had hardly closed his eyes before he lost consciousness. The next thing he knew he was being awakened by the 8:00 A.M alarm. Archon had brought him breakfast in his room so as to preserve the surprise for the other contestants. He had approved, reasoning that startling his opponents with his new appearance just before the battle would give him a mental edge over them. 

Their shocked expressions when he had made his entrance had validated that belief. To his surprise he had found that they looked different to him as well; they seemed smaller and scrawnier than he remembered. It had been hard to believe that he had ever feared any of them, and elation had welled up in him at the realization that soon they would fear him.

His opening chakram throw had been intended to shock and intimidate. The first real attack had been directed against the Blue Turbo Ranger, his most skillful opponent. Next he had shown up Alexander in swordsmanship and knocked the Klingon kid out. Kenny and Colin were then disarmed and overcome in a matter of seconds.

Subsequently the Ranger had recovered enough to try to take him in close combat. He had contemptuously trounced the teenager with a single move, effortlessly crippling his inferior enemy. Archon had pronounced the test over at that point, and he had been the first to stride from the chamber--and the sole one immediately able to do so.

His head had been held high as he left and he’d thought he might burst with pride from his accomplishment. He had faced the other contestants alone and had torn through them like a wolf through a herd of sheep! They hadn’t had a prayer of even slowing him down, much less stopping him. Only Archon’s prohibition against killing had kept him from slaughtering them all.

He had expected to prevail, but he hadn’t dared to imagine he would triumph so easily. The resultant sense of empowerment and freedom had opened his eyes to what he had been missing all of his life. 

Back at his room Archon had professed to be quite impressed with his performance. The Warrior Prince had accepted this praise as his due and after prompting had divulged his feelings to Archon. The strange being had assured him that such sensations were normal. He was built for battle and the exuberance he had taken in exercising his talents was to be expected. Archon had extolled caution, however, advising the Warrior Prince to wait for three more years of growth before seeking out Xena. 

Eventually he had recalled his earlier desire to assess his strength and had gone to the gym. Shortly after he returned from a gratifying session he was teleported to a path in a forest, of all places, and told the tournament would now continue. The news had filled him with an excited anticipation. 

His skirmish with Justin had been exhilarating, but also unsettling. Remembering that Justin really had saved his life had made him feel guilty, forcing him to sternly remind himself that the teen thought of him as little more than a dog and would kill him if given the chance. Nevertheless when Justin had removed his helmet he had found that he could not bring himself to even hit the boy, no matter how patronizing and manipulative the Ranger persisted in being. It was definitely better to fight him when that helmet covered his face. 

The confrontation with Kenny had been much easier, physically and emotionally. It had been disturbing slaying the boy at the end, but he was still adjusting to all of this. 

He had scoured about half the woods after that, noticing how much smaller this environment was than the others they had been placed in. With such a limited amount of space it would be almost impossible NOT to conclude things today! 

He had proceeded to one of the clearings, certain he wouldn’t have to wait long to be found. Alexander had proved him right and he had swiftly bested the arrogant alien. Then Justin had arrived. The teenager had been in no condition to face him, but had charged forward anyway. He had defeated the Ranger with ease, and then-but he didn’t want to think about that anymore. 

Was there any feeling more soul-crushing than helplessness, the Warrior Prince wondered bitterly. To not even be able to move! He was fortunate indeed that Archon had chosen to play out the final conflict tomorrow. Otherwise Justin would have killed him. 

It was surprising that the Ranger hadn’t killed him anyway, given how long it seemed he had lain helpless. His perception of how much time had passed must have been distorted by his circumstances.

ΩΩΩΩΩ

When he reappeared in his bedroom Justin Stewart didn’t scream and throw things. He didn’t beg and plead. He didn’t curl up in a corner, trembling with fear. 

He just sat there on his bed, and did nothing. 

He wondered idly if all of the emotional anguish and physical punishment he’d endured over these past four days might have finally broken him. Because what he was experiencing now was an overwhelming sensation of numbness and disengagement. It was like someone had stuffed his head with cotton. 

The hours flitted by until his hunger grew too great to ignore. Rising he felt a dozen different twinges of pain flare up from various points on his thoroughly battered body. Slowly he made his way down to the dining hall. 

There was only one chair at the table now. 

Justin sagged abruptly against the door frame, shutting his eyes and taking deep, shuddering breaths as his sense of detachment vanished. When he had at last regained a semblance of control he walked to the food dispenser and ordered steak and fries. As he carried his plate to the table the old custom about how a condemned man was always entitled to a hearty last meal passed through his mind.

Technically this wasn’t really his last meal; that would come in the morning. But he was indeed a condemned man, as surely as any death row prisoner, and unlike them he could entertain no hope of a last minute reprieve. 

Tomorrow Solan was going to kill him. 

It was inevitable, unavoidable. Since this morning the message of the other boy’s newfound superiority had been literally and repeatedly pounded into him. In light of what he had learned he doubted he could take the “Warrior Prince” on his best day, and tomorrow would be far from that. Already he was utterly exhausted, beaten in more ways than one.

The food Archon provided his victims had always been above reproach, but tonight Justin had to force himself to choke down enough to fill his stomach. Then he had to struggle to keep it down. 

He was going to die, and there was nothing he could do to prevent his death. He’d had his chance earlier, and he had thrown it away. 

Giving up on eating anymore Justin put his head in his hands. He had known even as he let the opportunity slip away that it wouldn’t come again. And still he hadn’t been able to kill Solan. In spite of everything, he couldn’t bring himself to cold-bloodedly murder a helpless enemy-especially when that enemy was someone he had once considered a friend. 

Thinking back on the reasons for his restraint now Justin felt like screaming, but he was afraid he might not be able to stop.

From the moment of his arrival here he had tried so hard to live up to his ideals and adhere to the Ranger code. And what had been the result of his efforts? What was the reward for his virtue? All of his new friends and allies had died, all except for the one who had betrayed him. 

So he sat here alone, waiting for new day and for his execution. 

Justin walked listlessly back to his room, stripped down to his boxers, and slid under the covers. Unfortunately the peaceful oblivion of sleep eluded him, and every time he opened his eyes to glance at the computer clock he was angrily amazed at how little time had passed. 

God, why couldn’t this be OVER already?!?! Hadn’t he suffered enough in this hell? Why hadn’t Archon let them finish the contest instead of pointlessly dragging it out another day? Did the sadist imagine he was building suspense or something? It wasn’t as if there was any real mystery left about who would win, not after Justin had failed to take advantage of his foe’s brief window of vulnerability. 

Ha, wouldn’t it have messed up Archon’s plans if he had, the teenager reflected in a bit of gallows humor. He could have killed Solan before Archon announced that the final fight would be the next day. 

Justin sat bolt upright in bed, his eyes flying open. There was only one problem with that: Solan had been put at his mercy by the bizarre electrical discharge which had followed Kenny’s demise. Kenny, who had been the last contestant left except for the two of them. If Archon had truly intended for his final contestants to fight it out tomorrow, he should have teleported them away the instant Kenny died. Instead he had waited what? Ten, fifteen seconds? Long enough for Justin to have killed Solan if he’d been so inclined. It was only after Justin had failed to do so that Archon removed them. 

His mind warned him that he was grasping at straws, making too much of a delay that probably wasn’t as long as he thought. Subjectively time slowed down in a crisis, didn’t it? And he’d certainly been in a crisis. 

Yet however long it had really been, it was certainly long enough for him to hit the grass with everything he had in him. If his punch had landed on Solan’s neck it would have snapped like a twig and the contest would be over, without this “tomorrow is the last battle” crap. 

Okay, so maybe Archon had simply been careless. He had accidentally given Justin the chance to end things early and had been lucky that the Turbo Ranger didn’t follow through. 

Justin didn’t buy that one either. He’d concluded only a few hours ago that Archon’s actions were on the whole logical and well-thought out. Would someone who had gone to the extent of learning about Ranger color affinity really allow his contest to be screwed up by such a basic failure as not teleporting people back on time? And it wasn’t as if Kenny’s death could have been a surprise. They’d all been in the same place, and wasn’t the whole point of this contest to give Archon the voyeuristic thrill of watching them battle each other? He and Solan should have been out of there before Kenny’s head touched the grass! 

At least they should have been if Archon had truly planned for the final battle to take place tomorrow. He’d never given them any reason to think that, not before announcing it today. That, and the time delay, told Justin that it hadn’t been his plan; it was simply a spur of the moment improvisation. 

Why, though? So he could be sure Solan would win? No, if that was what he’d wanted they would have been removed before Justin could act. Archon was apparently willing to let Justin kill Solan; it was when Justin had failed to kill the Grecian boy that Archon had declared the day over. 

If he had left them there Solan would have eventually recovered enough to act. He would have killed Justin then. Why not wait for that? Why draw things out further? Unless . . . 

. . . unless Archon was afraid that by sparing Solan he might actually lead the twelve year-old to make peace with him. 

But that was ridiculous! Solan was a monster, no better than Kenny! The two blonds were the same, both liars who had used and betrayed him without a second thought! If anything, Solan was actually worse than Kenny, because he had pretended to be Justin’s friend. 

Solan had probably planned to kill him from the first day they met! He must have! Look at how he had acted after being altered! He’d nearly killed Justin twice and had beaten him worse than anyone else ever had!

Justin’s mind replayed the scene in the forest, his eidetic memory providing every detail. He remembered the cowardly sneak attack, the frantic feeling of suffocation, and his futile fight against the younger, bigger boy. 

The recollections stoked his anger, sending it soaring ever higher, but at the same time he remembered the accusations Solan had made. The charges that Justin only made a show of being his friend out of pity, that Justin had wanted to keep him weak, that Justin would have killed him to win the tournament. 

Obviously this was a projection of his feelings onto Justin as a means of self-justification. Yes, that explanation made sense. Justin felt momentarily reassured-until he remembered that Kenny had never bothered with anything of that nature. The blond had simply gone for the throat, unapologetically and without explanation, once his cover had been blown. 

Did this difference really matter? It was a minor variation, wasn’t it? They were still pretty much the same. 

They were both killers. Kenny had murdered Alexander today, had killed someone else that third day, and had killed who knows how many other kids in the previous two days.

And of course Solan . . . had killed Kenny. He hadn’t killed anyone in the morning, although he could have. He had almost killed Justin a couple of times in the afternoon, yes, but he had deliberately chosen not to. He had practically crippled Alexander, but he hadn’t killed the alien either. The only one he’d killed was the traitor Justin whom had been willing to kill himself. 

What about deception, though? Kenny had lied to him from the start, covering up his healing ability and the fact that he had possessed a sword. Clearly he had always intended to backstab Justin and win the tournament. 

His heart insisted that Solan had lied too, but his head was having trouble figuring out when. Solan hadn’t lied to him about his background; the new beliefs he’d shared about his past had been told to him later, by Archon. Nor had Solan lied to Justin about his abilities; everything he had demonstrated today had been the fruit of Archon’s interference. 

Well, then, hadn’t he lied about his character, about what kind of person he was? How else could he doubt the truth of the friendship Justin had offered him? 

Except he was doing the same thing, wasn’t he? He was thinking that Solan must not have ever really been his friend, exactly what Solan had claimed about him. 

Was it possible they were both wrong? 

Unable to sit still any longer the brown-haired fourteen year-old climbed out of bed, shielding his eyes against the light as it clicked on. He began to pace, his mind going a million miles a minute as he tried to rationally consider this.

From almost the second the “Warrior Prince” had appeared Justin had been fixated on the idea that Solan was being controlled by Archon and thus was not responsible for his actions. When circumstances had finally forced him to discard that hypothesis he had let his own outraged hurt control him. He had immediately lumped Solan together with Kenny as an irredeemable traitor and enemy, without stopping to consider if that characterization was accurate.

His anguish from Solan’s choices hadn’t gone away, but he couldn’t let it color his perceptions anymore. He had to get past it and use his intellect to try to understand Solan, if he could. 

He knew that Solan had been feeling helpless prior to today. No, he knew that Solan had been helpless. Judging by their conversation the night before last he had blamed himself for Jo’s death, and apparently for the deaths of other people he had lost as well. So he’d felt horrible about himself, and Alexander’s open insults surely hadn’t helped matters. He had wanted desperately to learn how to defend himself so that he could stop being helpless! Justin’s refusal to teach him the martial arts, however sensible, must have felt to him like a betrayal. 

Yesterday morning Solan had been openly bitter and depressed, and sometime during the day it sounded like Kenny had tried to take him. He also must have seen Justin kill Morthos, contrary to everything Justin had been preaching. Had it seemed to him like there was no one he could trust? 

Then Archon had taken him away and told him that story about his mother and his destiny. Justin had initially dismissed the tale as a fabrication, but looking back he could see no real basis for his conclusion. On the contrary, which made more sense? That Solan had indeed been destined to be his world’s greatest warrior? Or that Archon had snatched a random kid with no combat ability, let him flail around for a few days, and then told him an outrageous lie just before turning him into a fantastic fighter? Solan was the only contestant whose reason for his selection had been a mystery. If this tale was true, that question was answered. 

Why had he been so quick to brand the story a lie? It wasn’t that he had wanted to keep Solan weak, but maybe-maybe he hadn’t been ready to accept that Solan could be so strong. He’d formed a picture in his head of his friend as an innocent civilian, someone dependent upon him for protection. That perception had added to the crushing weight of his responsibility, but it had also given him someone who needed him.

That contribution had made a difference. He needed to be needed. Knowing that he was helping others, being strong for them, gave him a purpose and courage that he didn’t otherwise possess. It wasn’t just that aiding others was the right thing to do, or that he enjoyed it; it literally made him a better person. 

The insight surprised him, and sent his thinking down a wholly unexpected path. Before this he had always thought of his acceptance into the Power Rangers as the luckiest accident of his life. Rocky had been injured, he’d overheard the other Rangers talking to him, and when Rocky found out he had sent Justin to Zordon in his place. It was all a one in a million fluke, like winning the lottery, and it could have happened to anyone. 

Maybe so, but he had never once considered how astonishingly right he was for Rangering, and it for him. Prior to Rocky’s accident he had been a twelve year-old genius black belt who was stuck in an orphanage and mired in depression. The Rangers had all been high-school students skilled in the martial arts, who’d recently lost the genius of their team. The fit was better than he had ever realized. 

Was that chance? Or was it fate? And if fate could guide him, then why not Solan? 

Justin had stopped pacing, slowly sinking down to a sitting position on his bed. He felt a bit overwhelmed. He needed to think about this more fully, but not here and not now. 

At the moment his focus had to be on Solan.

So Archon had told Solan that he was meant to be a terrific fighter, if only his Mom hadn’t given him away, out of jealousy. And his Mom was a friend he had trusted who had lied to him, just like his adoptive father had lied. Add on top of that Kenny’s betrayal, Alexander’s insults and pointedly temporary truce, and Justin’s killing of Morthos and refusal to teach Solan. Not to mention Jo’s death and everything else Solan had endured these past few days. 

And he’d thought his own burden was heavy. 

After Solan accepted Archon’s offer he hadn’t reappeared for dinner or breakfast. They’d deliberately been given no chance to talk with him, not before the fight. And afterwards the contest had been resumed right before he could reach the door to his friend’s room. 

Solan had ignored Justin’s pleas then, but that was to be expected if he thought Justin was a false friend. 

The teenager wondered briefly at the evident joy Solan had taken in brutally beating everyone up, but that actually wasn’t difficult to understand. First, he had thought they all wanted to kill him, even the teammates he had trusted. Second, he was carrying around an amount of emotional baggage which Justin could scarcely comprehend, and like all bullies he had discovered he could lighten his load by picking on those weaker than him, a category which everyone else happened to fall into. Violence had become his means of expressing his negative emotions, an outlet for all the rage he was feeling. Finally, Justin knew firsthand how seductive and intoxicating raw physical prowess could be, especially for someone who was feeling physically inadequate. His own brief brush with enhanced strength two years ago had shown him that. 

An unconscious smile crept across the teenager's face as he recalled how wonderful it had felt to be so powerful. No longer had he been the baby genius, the little freak of the freshman class. Instead he had taken his place as the star of the track team! He was the school super-jock, and the other athletes hadn’t even been good enough to kiss his sneakers! The acceptance and admiration had been addictive and the welcome sense of superiority his athletic performance engendered had been a great ego boost, especially after feeling weak and out of place for so long. 

How much worse, Justin wondered with an ache, were Solan's feelings of uselessness and alienation? How much more of an ego boost had it been for him to suddenly be able to kick the crap out of the kids who'd scorned and pitied him? 

Justin flushed as he looked back on what he had done with his own ant-bite-derived might. After the try-out he had resisted the others’ efforts to make him return to the Command Center for examination. He had insisted that he had just been training really hard, though inside he had known full well that what he was doing wasn’t natural. He just hadn’t wanted anyone to probe at the reason for his strength because he was afraid that the knowledge gained might somehow lead to him losing it. 

After the artificial nature of his empowerment had been confirmed he still hadn’t stopped showing off. He had opened that jar for Stone, and he had relished beating that big senior at arm-wrestling, purposefully drawing out the match to toy with his opponent. He had gone so far as to gloat over his victory and had even been ready to teach Carlos a lesson if the other Ranger didn't get off his case! Perhaps most significant of all for the present situation, though, was his one-sided fight with the Piranhatrons, which remained one of the best experiences of his life. 

It had been such a rush pounding them, showing them just how inadequate they were against his new super-strength. He hadn’t merely defeated them, he’d humiliated them, and he had loved it! The whole time he had been smiling and taunting, openly reveling in his absolute physical supremacy. The five of them had been nothing compared to him, and he had made sure they knew it. 

And that had been in circumstances far, far better than Solan’s. He could not truly condemn the younger boy for his aggressive actions, not when he had fallen prey to the same temptations and feelings. 

Justin was reminded of a special he’d once seen on the Discovery channel about the dynamics of wolf packs and the similarities to human interaction. Solan had spent his whole time here as the puny, picked-on runt of the litter. Subsequent to his transformation it was not only natural, but inevitable that he would forcefully assert his new status as the dominant alpha male. He had needed to make them submit to him, to implicitly or explicitly acknowledge that he had indeed risen above them.

Part of the motivation had been revenge, but if he was anything like Justin, the greater part had been vindication of himself in his own eyes. He was trying to restore his sense of pride and self-worth, both traits which had been severely damaged by his time here. Justin remembered how excluded and looked down upon he had felt when he had entered high school at the age of twelve; how many times did you have to multiply those feelings to get how Solan had felt about being the only one who couldn’t fight in a group of kid warriors battling each other to the death? 

In hindsight maybe that explained why he had reacted as he had to Justin’s use of his name. When he had begun calling himself “Warrior Prince” he could have been taking on a new identity to supplant his old one. It’d be one way to distance himself from all of his negative feelings about who he had been. 

The hypothesis drew a small groan from Justin. The teenager had repeatedly urged Solan to remember who he was, when that was the last thing the Grecian boy wanted to do! He didn’t want to be Solan anymore; he wanted to be the Warrior Prince. 

His whole approach had been deeply flawed from the beginning. He needed to rework his entire appeal based on what he had learned. 

Correction; what he thought he had learned. He was making multiple assumptions, ones he had no way of proving or disproving. Was he finally, finally on the right track? Or was he completely off base, relentlessly rationalizing Solan’s behavior in order to give himself some modicum of hope?

Alexander had charged him more than once with being unfairly biased about his own species, and Justin had seen for himself the truth in the alien’s harsh words. In his idealism and naiveté he had not only treated humans differently from non-humans, but he had clung to an overly flattering view of humanity. Was he doing so still? 

It seemed impossible, given how much this place had taken from him. It had taken his innocence, his faith in mankind, and many of his ideals. He didn’t think he had enough light left in him to unduly influence his viewpoint. 

If he was wrong, if he was deluding himself again, then so be it. He chose to spend his last few hours in the belief that Solan was not evil, and that Justin could reach him with the right words and actions. 

He chose to hope, even if it was a fool’s hope. 

So consumed was Justin with thinking and planning that he didn’t fall asleep until well after five.

ΩΩΩΩΩ


	11. The Fifth Day

The computer’s alarm tone slowly increased in volume as Justin continued to slumber. When it had moved up from ear-splitting to deafening the teenager finally awoke and tumbled off his bed onto the floor. 

The tone ceased instantly.

Justin pushed himself up with a groan. He hurt everywhere; his body felt like one big bruise. He was also completely exhausted, more tired than he could ever recall being. He wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, but when he looked at the computer clock he saw it was already 8:30.

Wincing he rose shakily to his feet and headed into the bathroom. The mirror there showed bags under his eyes and his complexion was sallow and sickly. Grimacing he discarded his shorts and undergarments and stepped into the shower. Soon warm water was raining down on him. It helped, a little.

He remained in the shower for almost twenty minutes before he emerged, dried off, brushed his teeth and got dressed. Then it was a jog down to the cafeteria to try to get a little food in before Archon took them to the Battlefield. He’d thought he might be too nervous to eat, but he was able to wolf down twelve slices of bacon and four sausages without a problem. To his surprise he felt calm, almost at peace. One way or another the nightmare he was trapped in was nearly finished. A few hours from now he would be free of this place forever. He would at last be able to see his Dad again. 

Or his Mom. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

The Warrior Prince awoke in a foul mood. With a growl he flung back the covers and stalked into the bathroom. Submerging himself in warm water lightened his demeanor somewhat, but could not fully lift his spirits. 

Yesterday’s conclusion had shown him his limits. He was . . . less than what he had envisioned himself to be, a revelation which still burned in him like a flaming brand. He was frustrated, disappointed, and determined to never find himself in such a situation again. He would do everything he possibly could to improve himself. Physically he would continue to hone and develop his skills. Mentally he would remember the virtue of caution and he would keep a watch for the daggers aimed at his back.

Treachery had cost him too much already. In all his life there had never been a single person he could fully trust. Even Archon, who had done more for him than anyone else, had failed to warn him of Kenny. The only one he could truly rely on was himself.

That was a lesson he should have learned years ago, he reflected bitterly. Rising from the tub he dried off with one of the feather-soft towels before slipping on his boots, briefs and cross-belt. He let out a breath, momentarily reassured by the feel and fit of his warrior’s garb. 

When he emerged back into his bedroom the same table and chair from yesterday’s breakfast and dinner was waiting for him. As he began to eat he wondered why Archon continued to serve him in his room. At breakfast it had been necessary to surprise his enemies, but only then. He thought of asking the entity, but they hadn’t spoken since yesterday afternoon and he had no real desire to talk to Archon now. 

No, his focus was on Justin. Doubtless the teenager had enjoyed his humiliation yesterday. Perhaps it had given him hope that he could win their fight, but if so he would crush that hope along with the Ranger. He might not be all that he had wished, but he was still more than Justin could ever be. He would demonstrate that for the last time. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

As he shifted into the Blue Turbo Ranger Justin felt somewhat re-energized, but he hardly felt up to fighting. Fortunately that wasn’t his plan.

He had barely morphed in time. Only seconds later he found himself standing in an ancient arena. 

The bowl-shaped structure was a perfect fifty by fifty circle. Both the walls and the floor were constructed of polished white marble. There were tiers upon tiers of empty seats and no apparent entrance to or exit from the floor of the coliseum. Overhead an all-encompassing blackness was reminiscent of a starless night, while illumination was provided by a single globe of pure light shining a few feet above the royal box. It wasn’t what Justin had expected, but it was an undeniably appropriate setting for the last act of Archon’s sadistic, gladiatorial game. 

Directly opposite him Solan stood beneath the royal box, a scowl on his face. 

“LET THE FINAL BATTLE BEGIN!” Archon decreed. His opponent swiftly advanced while Justin stood his ground.

He swallowed nervously, his calmness slipping away from him and being replaced by the fear he’d expected. What he was about to do might seem insane, but it was the only way. He’d convinced himself of that last night. 

Taking a deep breath, the teen powered down. In a flash of light he went from being the Blue Turbo Ranger to being Justin Stewart. Then he hurled his Turbo Key away to the right, hearing it clink off the curved wall. Unstrapping his morpher, he threw that device to the left. Finally he sat down on the arena floor, his legs crossed in a position that would make it impossible for him to get to his feet quickly. 

Solan’s cerulean eyes were wide with shock, an emotion also detectable in his voice. “What are you doing?” he demanded incredulously. 

“I’m not going to fight you,” Justin explained. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

The young Warrior Prince stared in open disbelief at his opponent. Justin’s action had taken him completely by surprise and he was at a loss as to how to respond. 

It was a trick, it had to be. He halted ten yards away from the sitting boy, studying his foe suspiciously. Justin simply sat there, legs crossed and hands resting on his thighs. The long-haired youth was forcibly struck by how small the older boy looked. In his Ranger uniform Justin had always seemed (to him at least) larger than life; without it he seemed diminished in a way the bemused Prince of Warriors couldn’t quite define. 

There was no ambiguity or uncertainty about the awfulness of Justin’s appearance, though. The effort he was visibly putting into holding his back straight, the fatigue in his eyes and the slackness of his features told the tale all too clearly. 

He would need his weapon and armor now more than ever, yet he had cast them away. Was he sincere, then? Did he actually plan to go passively to his death without lifting a finger in resistance?

The prospect angered the Grecian preteen, and disappointed him. He had expected much better of Justin than this. He would’ve thought a suicidal surrender to be beneath the Turbo Ranger. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

“You’re just going to give up then?” the other boy asked, scorn, doubt and dismay all mixing in his tone. 

Justin’s mouth was bone-dry and his heart was pounding against his ribcage, but things were working out so far: Solan hadn’t killed him yet.

He’d decided that the best and perhaps only way to forestall immediate violence was to render himself completely defenseless. He would present no physical challenge whatsoever and so give Solan no excuse to prove his physical superiority once again. Regardless of what happened, he would not fight back. If Solan wanted to kill him, it would have to be a butchering in cold blood. If he was willing to do that . . . well, then Justin had probably never had a chance of reaching him anyway. 

“I’m not giving up,” he answered. “I’m refusing to play Archon’s sick game. The same way you did, before he made you so good at it.” 

His foe’s face darkened and Justin had to fight to keep from wincing. He needed to persuade Solan that the latter was wrong, but this could not be done without angering the twelve year-old. He had gotten a glimpse yesterday of how much rage was locked away inside his onetime friend and if he tapped that well too deeply the Warrior Prince would probably rip his head off, whether he resisted or not. 

“Archon only gave me back what is mine!” Solan insisted, striding forward. “And you began playing his game the moment you killed Morthos! You’re only stopping now because you know you’ll lose!”

“Listen to me!” Justin pleaded. “I killed Morthos because he was about to kill me. I didn’t want to do it! I didn’t want to kill anyone, you know that! I thought we could band together and keep from hurting each other.” 

“I was wrong.” 

“So you decided to win the tournament yourself,” Solan sneered, drawing dangerously close now. 

“No! The night before last Alexander and I promised not to kill each other!” 

That was enough to bring the extremely built blond boy to a temporary halt, but then his lip curled in contempt. 

“He would never agree to that,” Solan said dismissively. 

He was losing him, Justin realized despairingly. Nothing he was saying was getting through. 

“You saw me try to save Alexander yesterday! Why would I do that if I was only trying to win myself?”

Solan had come to stand over the adolescent, blotting out the artificial sun and engulfing the Turbo Ranger in his shadow. This close he seemed to radiate strength and energy, and looking up at him remained as intimidating an experience as ever. More so, without the protection offered by his lessened Ranger powers.

“So he could be your shield,” the Warrior Prince responded harshly. “With my promise to save you until last you needed someone else alive to hide behind. You no longer have that, so you cower here and try to deceive me. Enough!” he declared, lashing out with his right boot and kicking Justin in the chest. Pain exploded in the Ranger as he was knocked backward. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

He was so weary of being lied to and manipulated. It was past time Justin stopped taking him for a fool. 

“Go get your morpher,” he commanded the prone boy, “and face me!”

The teenager rolled over onto his stomach, lifted himself up on his hands and knees, and began to laugh. To the Warrior Prince’s astonished ire the laughter continued as Justin sat down again. He was holding a hand to his chest and in obvious pain, but he kept laughing. It was inexplicable and the sound was starting to madden him. 

“What are you laughing at?” he asked. “What are you laughing at?” he repeated in a louder tone, taking a threatening step forward. 

“I-I was remembering when we met,” Justin said, still chuckling, “and I was thinking of how we’ve changed places since then. Now you’re the big tough warrior and I’m the scared little kid. The only difference is that I wanted to help you, and be your friend. You just want to kill me.” 

He turned his anguished gaze up to meet his opponent’s. 

“Don’t you think that’s funny?” 

The infuriated twelve year-old acted without conscious thought, moving forward, seizing Justin by the front of the shirt, lifting him up, and taking two more steps to slam the teenager’s back against the wall. 

“I was a pet to you!” he shouted furiously. “Never an equal, never a real friend!” 

“LIAR!” Justin screamed back at the top of his lungs. “I always thought of you as my friend! I liked you. I trusted you! When I saw you were alive it was the happiest I’ve been here. Even after you attacked us I told myself that it wasn’t your fault, that Archon had to be controlling you and I only needed to find a way to set you free. Then you’d be back with us.” 

“I never betrayed you; you betrayed me,” Justin finished roughly, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes.

The two stared at each other and, try though he might, the deeply shaken Grecian could not discern any falsehood in those eyes. He felt the bitter, rock-solid belief he had based his actions on began to wobble and teeter. Like a man on shifting ground his mind scrambled for purchase, desperately seeking some proof of enmity to cling to. 

“You tried to kill me with your Turbo Blade,” he charged, almost in relief. 

“I was trying to save Alexander,” Justin spat out as he wiped at his eyes. “But yeah, I wanted to kill you then, after I realized you’d turned on us willingly. When I had my chance, though, I couldn’t do it. You were lying right in front of me and I could have broken your neck, but I didn’t! I hit the grass next to you instead.” 

Hurriedly his consciousness spooled back to yesterday, to the awful moment he had wanted so much to forget. He’d been utterly consumed with rage and terror at the time, expecting each second to feel the impact of a finishing blow. Had he felt something hit the ground near him? Maybe; he couldn’t be sure. He did remember thinking, though, that there had been more than enough time for Justin to strike. 

“Why?” he asked urgently. 

Justin did not answer for almost a minute. Finally he spoke. 

“Part of it-part of it was because you were helpless. The rest was remembering how I’d thought of you as my friend, even if you had been using me the whole time.”

ΩΩΩΩΩ

When his shirt was released and its collar stopped cutting into the back of his neck Justin landed on his feet, but his legs were unsteady beneath him. He slumped against the arena wall. 

Solan had fallen back one step, then a second. His expression showed complete and total bewilderment, with a hint of genuine fear. Slowly he shook his head from side to side. 

“No, this cannot be! Archon told me I was no more to you than a primitive inferior. He said you’d eventually kill me for your freedom,” the Grecian youth insisted, though his voice wavered with lack of conviction.   
Justin’s careful plan of measured persuasion and logical arguments had fallen apart. Since his bout of near-hysteria he had been operating almost solely on the basis of emotion. With this latest revelation his emotions overwhelmed him. 

“You believed Archon over me? He’s the reason we’re here in the first place! He’s the one responsible for everyone who’s died, for all of this suffering! Why would you listen to him?!?”

“Because he helped me!” Solan roared back. “He told me of my real parentage, and of my destiny. He gave me back myself! This is who I am,” he declared adamantly, striking his developed right pectoral muscle with a clenched fist, “not the weak, pathetic child you first met.” 

“You weren’t weak or pathetic!” Justin disputed, momentarily diverted from further expressing his own outrage. “You just didn’t know how to fight.” 

“And here what could be more pathetic than that?” he replied, his tone thick with self-hatred. “Thousands of years behind you, unable even to defend myself . . . I was worse than useless! Why wouldn’t you look down on me, despise me?” 

“You’re more than just how well you can fight! When you were Solan you were a good person! Since you became the Warrior Prince you’ve acted mostly like Kenny.” 

The comparison visibly stung the golden-haired lad. 

“I was always honest with you and everyone else!” he protested hotly. “I never tried to take advantage of another’s trust to stab him in the back!”

“No, you stabbed us in the front! That’s not a big improvement!” Justin shot back with angry sarcasm. 

“I thought you were going to kill me! I never even suspected the truth about Xena; how could I be sure you weren’t fooling me too?” 

“You should have trusted me! That’s what friends do!”

A brief silence ensued while the two glared at each other. The bigger boy broke eye contact first and when he spoke he was so quiet that even at a distance of a few feet Justin had to strain to hear him. 

“So you,” his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously, “you really were my friend, then?” he asked, as though he could hardly bring himself to believe it. 

“Yes!” Justin cried emphatically.

With this the mask of arrogant self-confidence at last slipped fully away. Guilt and remorse softened the young Prince’s brutally handsome features. In spite of his size and power he suddenly seemed lost and alone, more like the Solan Justin had known. His hands shook ever so slightly and he would not meet the teenager’s gaze. 

“Justin, I . . .” he stopped, floundering for words, for a way to express himself. “I’m sorry,” he whispered helplessly, and his apology loosened the knot of tension in Justin’s aching chest. He was attempting to frame a reply when another voice echoed through the arena. 

“You have come so far, only to fall short at the end.” 

This was not Archon’s impersonal, electronic tones; it was a deep, rich baritone, and it seemed to come from the far end of the arena. Solan spun instantly to search for the source, and Justin moved to his side to join him. 

As they watched the ball of light descended to hover just above the surface of the throne in the royal box. Then it began to warp and expand into the shape of a human. When the light faded (although the level of light in the arena remained unchanged) a man sat there. 

It was hard to be certain of his height with him sitting down, but Justin figured he had to be at least six foot four. He looked to be in his early twenties, with brilliant blue eyes and long, blond hair that cascaded down past his very broad shoulders. He wore a leather cross-belt and his physique was at the point of perfection, his muscles sculpted and as large as possible without being bloated or overdeveloped. 

Justin gasped as the boy beside him snarled. The man on the throne looked as Solan might in another eight years. 

“You should have killed the Ranger at once instead of allowing him to prattle on,” the adult observed coldly. 

“Archon,” Justin breathed. 

“Why do you look like me?” Solan growled.

“I don’t; you look like me,” Archon corrected with a razor-thin smile. “This was the appearance I had before I transcended physical form. It was an ascension I hoped to someday see you make yourself.” 

Solan didn’t get it, but Justin thought that he did. He couldn’t even begin to try to grasp all of the implications involved; right now the simple, stark fact was more than enough for him to try to take in. If he was right, their captor, their torturer, was . . . 

“You’re an alternate universe Solan, aren’t you?” Justin asked. Solan’s head snapped toward him so fast Justin thought he might have hurt his neck, but Archon only brought his palms together thrice in a slow, mocking clap.

“Very good, Ranger. But say rather that I am the primary Solan. My parents raised and trained me together, teaching me all they knew. In my early teens I helped to expand our empire to every corner of Europe. No mortal could match me, not even Xena.”

“Then the Twilight of the Gods began.”

“The Greek gods are not eternal. In most of the realities in which they exist they are destined to be destroyed by a single warrior. I was that warrior. I slew the gods and then in their own hall I feasted on nectar and ambrosia.” 

“I became a god, and my power grew far beyond your limited understanding. Eventually I achieved dominion over my entire reality and for millennia I have had no more worlds to conquer.” 

“Recently I began peering into other universes. In the process I looked into the pasts of those worlds akin to my own and saw other versions of myself. And out of all those I viewed, your short life was the most unjust and terrible,” he proclaimed, indicating Solan with a nod of his head. 

“Your father dead before you’d drawn your first breath. Your mother forsaking you, giving you away out of pride and jealousy. Being forced to grow up as the sole human in that Centaur village, never knowing your true heritage and potential. Then Xena’s return, her lies, her dissuading you from the path of the warrior. Finally her second coming and your shameful and ignominious death at the hands of an enemy you would have been able to defeat if you had been trained!” 

Archon’s voice had risen almost to a shout, outraged fury vibrating in ever syllable. Now he returned to a more conversational tone, almost soft. 

“You were never given even one chance to grow and succeed; I resolved to offer you that chance.” 

“I devised the tournament, an environment of intense physical competition and mortal danger for you to seek to excel in. It was a crucible in which you could purge yourself of everything inside you that hindered you and held you back.” 

Up to this point both boys had stood spellbound, listening in mute fascination to Archon, but Justin could keep silent no longer.

“You’re saying that this entire contest was all some kind of-of boot camp for Solan?” he asked in a tightly controlled voice. 

“In effect,” Archon casually confirmed before turning back to his other-world counterpart. “By the time of your death you were so confused and misled that you didn’t even know who you were anymore. This experience was the only way you could hope to break through to your true nature and self.” 

These words flowed over Justin, but he paid scant attention to them. Distantly, as though from a long way off, he heard the Warrior Prince shout, “If you wanted to help me, then why did you lie to me about Justin? Why did you tell me he wasn’t my friend?” 

Jo’s death. Josh’s death. Alexander’s death. The fear and pain they had endured before dying, the anguish Justin himself had felt. Everything endured and sacrificed solely in order to have an effect on one individual. 

“If he survived long enough, Justin was intended to be your final test. Slaying someone you knew had saved your life would have hardened you, toughened you mentally and emotionally. Then I could have sent you back to your world confident that you would allow no one to stand in your way. The determination to prevail at all costs, to strike down any person between you and your goal, is vital for your future!”

“And for this you would have had me take Justin’s life!” the twelve year-old bellowed. 

“Yes! Killing him will help you to become all that you can!”

“You mean it will help me become as you are,” the Warrior Prince spat out contemptuously. “You’re no different from my mother! Both of you manipulated me, striving to make me into who you wished for me to be! No more! I will not be your puppet, or hers! I am Solan, Warrior Prince, and I am myself! I will NEVER be you!”

The fire and certitude of the declaration was enough to rouse Justin from his horrified contemplation. Nor did he miss the fact that the Grecian boy had reclaimed his birth name, the name Justin had known him by. 

There was a long pause, fraught with tension, as the god gazed down at his younger doppelganger.

“You know I could reduce you to dust with less than a thought,” he announced in a low, dangerous tone. 

“Then do so!” Solan urged, no trace of fear in his voice or mannerisms. “I would rather die as myself than live as you would make me!” 

“I would not then spare the Ranger,” Archon added threateningly. 

In a single fluid motion Solan took hold of his chakram and hurled it up at Archon, who casually plucked the circular blade from the air before it could bite into his throat. For an instant a smile flickered across his face. 

“A good effort,” he conceded, “but the power to destroy the divine is not yet within you.” 

He tossed the weapon into the arena wall to his right. It struck the surface, rebounded toward them, and was deftly caught by Solan. The look on the twelve year-old’s face was easily one of the most frightening things Justin had ever seen. 

“Although you have failed your final test, I will not kill you. You have made great strides here, but in your youth and foolishness you cling to the wrong things. Perhaps in time you will acquire the necessary wisdom, if your lack of it does not doom you first. Now I release you both. Farewell!” 

Justin saw Solan turn his head and open his mouth. Then they were gone. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Afterwards the arena itself dissolved into nothingness as its creator relinquished his corporeal form. 

He had feared it would end this way. This Solan had been raised with a host of foolish ideas, one of which was to value his friends out of all proportion to their actual worth. That was why it had been so important that he see Xena and Justin as false friends, and slay the latter. Such an act would have effectively destroyed his ability to care for and trust another person, and he would have been all the stronger for it. Instead the weakness remained intact, a potentially fatal flaw in his character.

It would have been easy to alter this Solan’s mind, of course, but bitter experience had taught him the folly of stripping mortals of their free will. Free will was the source of all of the conflict, all of the excitement, all of the meaning of humans’ lives! Without it they were no better than a colony of ants, and there was no pleasure or satisfaction to be found in ruling such beings. Besides, he could not bear to violated and degrade his other self in such a way, even if it was ultimately for the boy’s own good. 

No, as he had resolved yesterday, he would simply have to accept that his protégé had failed to fully meet his expectations. Solan had nonetheless still come a long way from where he had started. His spirit and courage at the end had been a pleasure to behold, and conditions in his world were now very favorable for him. 

He had taken great care to return Solan to his Earth AFTER Xena and Gabrielle had perished battling each other. Before he had intervened the Powers of Solan’s reality would have used the boy subsequent to his death to create Illusia, a dream world where his mother and her companion could learn from their mistakes and resolve their lethal differences with each other. His discovery of this ploy had enraged him more than anything else in the last century and he had delighted in thwarting it by stealing Solan away. 

On top of all the indignities and hardships his other self had endured, to be used after his demise as a mere prop for his foul mother’s benefit, as if SHE was the important one, as if her main purpose in life hadn’t always been to give birth to her son! It was an obscenity against reality, one which could not be allowed to stand! 

It was the idea of Illusia which had given him the inspiration for the tournament. The Powers of that reality had seen fit to send Xena to a special world right before she would have died, a place where she could experience growth and alter her fate. He had resolved to perform the same service for his alternate world self. 

He had spent a long time searching for the other participants. It had pleased him to choose other child warriors who were about to die, each of them selected for their ability to potentially fulfill at least one purpose in Solan’s awakening. Aside from that damnable bolt of lighting, the process had proceeded better than he could have hoped. 

Now the changed Solan was home and his worthless mother had died the death she deserved. This Xena had done her son a monstrous disservice by leaving him with the centaurs, and a far worse one by encouraging him not to be a fighter. The difference between her actions and his fictional account of deliberate betrayal was a miniscule one in the eyes of the god. 

Solan had been born to do battle! How could it be otherwise for the son of Xena and Borias, and the grandson of Ares, God of War?

With his warrior potential now fully realized and Xena gone the gods would need the new Warrior Prince to take over the Warrior Princess’ role in fending off the threat of Dahak. They would not dare to kill him, not yet. His mother’s death would also serve to keep his younger half-sister Eve from ever existing. In that reality she would have been the child of Xena destined to destroy the gods, but now that destiny would most likely be Solan’s. Fate required that a mortal descended from a god be the one to end their existence, and the only other real possibility left in that world was Hercules. 

Would this Solan outgrow his childish softness by the time Twilight fell? Perhaps. The left-handed gift which he had bestowed could lead to such growth, depending on how things transpired between them. More likely it would forestall growth, but it was better to take that chance than leave the boy a sacred, idealized picture to cling to. And the poetic irony of this gift was indeed satisfying.

Still, this outcome was a poor substitute for the success he would have enjoyed without that errant bolt of lightning. Such a fantastically unlikely event almost made him suspect another Power’s interference . . . but no, that was ridiculous! He reigned alone in his universe. Hadn’t he banished the Creator himself? The prophecies of His return were nothing more than the ravings of a few deluded fools. He would never be cast down, and there would be no salvation coming for these pitiful Christians! 

With that erroneous certainty firmly in mind the god turned his attention to the next Solan he planned to help. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Solan knew he was back. He had played often in this section of the woods, only about a hundred yards from the village. He had seen these trees less than a week ago, and despite the brief passage of time it seemed surreal that they should still be exactly the same. 

He was not. His homecoming would be an awkward one, and after he had found and dealt with the inhuman little girl there would be no reason to stay. What was left for him here, with Kaleipus gone? Nor could he travel with Xena as he had originally planned. He would confront his mother with what he had learned, and if he survived he would set forth alone. 

“Solan?”

The sound of his name came from very close behind him and his reaction was entirely reflexive. He unsheathed his sword as he whirled around, his left hand snapping his chakram up to a throwing position. The speaker stood not three feet from him, a brown-haired boy dressed in distinctive blue clothing: Justin! 

Letting his weapons fall as quickly as he had drawn them he gazed stupefied at this impossible sight. Shock was quickly followed by happiness. Justin was here! They hadn’t been separated without a chance to say good-bye! He could tell the Ranger how sorry he was for what he had done, for the terrible way he had treated his friend. Maybe, just maybe, Justin would find it possible to forgive him. To part in real friendship would mean a great deal to him.   
“Where are we?” Justin asked. 

“We are near the Centaur village, in my world,” Solan explained. The look in Justin’s eyes drove away the wild happiness he had been feeling. It was the look of a person devoid of hope. Not even in the arena had Justin seemed so desolate, so beaten. 

The teenager twisted his left wrist in the motion he used to summon his morpher. But this time nothing happened. Apparently “Archon” had not returned the device when Justin had been teleported away.

“Archon!” Solan shouted, starting to understand now, starting to panic. “Archon!” 

No one answered. 

“Don’t do this! Send him back to his own world!” 

He screamed pleas and insults which blew away unheeded on the wind. His cried out until his throat grew raw and sore. Justin stood there as though paralyzed, not moving or speaking the entire time. 

“Justin?” the Warrior Prince rasped worriedly. “Can you hear me?” The teenager said nothing. He didn’t even flinch when a hand was waved in front of his eyes. 

Solan bit his lip hard enough to break the skin. He couldn’t get a reaction. What was wrong? What could he do?

At least he could get Justin out of the woods, to someplace safe. He tried repeatedly and unsuccessfully to coax the Ranger forward. In the end he gently lifted Justin into his arms, cradling the smaller boy like a newborn, and carried his burden down into the village. 

The Centaurs shied away from him, visibly awed. He asked them what had happened to the human children, and to Xena. Upon finding they had all departed he made his way to Kaleipus’ hut, the place where he had almost died.

The Centaurs seemed to think he HAD died, and he explained curtly that he had been with the gods, and had been sent back. He promised go into more detail later and disappeared into the hut. He laid Justin down on his bed and wrapped the boy in a warm blanket. 

He spent the rest of the day intermittently talking to Justin, hoping in vain to get some response. He went out only once, to borrow some food for their meals. Justin showed no interest in eating. 

After nightfall Solan lit the hearth fire. He was in the midst of cooking dinner when he heard a loud sob. He was at Justin’s bedside an instant later. The teen was weeping copiously, tears running down his cheeks. 

“Dad,” he whispered brokenly, and Solan’s heart contracted. The Warrior Prince hesitated, not sure how an attempt to offer comfort might be received. He had been the one to betray their friendship. He had beaten Justin badly more than once and had nearly killed the Ranger. It was an alternate version of himself who had stranded Justin here. Would his support only make things worse?

Gingerly, prepared to pull away, he slowly reached down and tentatively embraced the teen. “I’m so sorry,” he said. 

Half-sitting up Justin threw his own arms around the twelve year-old and hugged back with hysterical force. He buried his face in Solan’s broad left shoulder, and wept for all he had lost. 

The two boys maintained that position long into the night, eventually drifting off to sleep, but still holding on tightly, as though each was all that the other had left. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ


	12. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

The axe sank deeply into the trunk of the felled tree. Pulling the blade free with little effort Solan sent the tool whistling down into the bark again, widening the cut he had made. Another two dozen chops split off this portion from the main body of wood and with one hand he tossed it over into the pile with the others. Once he had finished sectioning the tree he would quarter each piece before loading them into the cart for transport back to the village. 

He had volunteered for this task in part because had never performed it before. Kaleipus had always maintained that chopping down trees for firewood was work for men, not children. There was thus a faint sense of pride and fulfillment in his current undertaking.

Mostly, however, he had chosen this job because he wanted very much to kill something. 

Actually he wanted to kill someone, but with Archon beyond his reach this tree was the substitute target for his wrath. For a time the challenge of bringing it down had actually relaxed him, but no longer. Now his thoughts were turning back to his grim reality. 

Over the past few weeks he had struggled to come to terms with the fact that Archon was really . . . him. Or a version of him, anyway. He was not Archon and would never become like the evil god; the very prospect sickened him. 

He couldn’t deny that his alternate world self had helped him. Without Archon he would be dead, and forever ignorant of the truth about himself and who he was. 

Yet Archon had also brought about the deaths of good people, such as Jo and Josh. The god had deliberately lied to try to get him to kill Justin, all in an attempt to manipulate and shape Solan into Archon’s own grotesque image. And when that endeavor had failed Archon had stranded Justin here, on Solan’s world. 

The terrible malice of that final act still horrified the young Warrior Prince. In some ways it seemed an even crueler punishment than giving the Ranger over to death. To be forced to live on a strange Earth, knowing you were forever separated from everyone and everything you had known and loved . . . that wrong alone would have been enough to turn any gratitude Solan might have felt toward Archon into hate.

Considering what Justin was suffering brought Solan’s spirits lower than the downed tree. The auburn-haired adolescent had thankfully not slipped back into that frightening period of non-responsiveness, but what had followed was almost worse: never in his life had he seen anyone so dejected, so shrouded in misery. Throughout the tournament Justin had given the rest of them hope; now hope had deserted him. He spent much of his time sitting on the edge of his bed, thinking or perhaps mourning. He said very little and his every movement seemed overshadowed by a kind of listless despair.

Of course there was little he could say, to anyone except Solan. They’d learned that on the second day here, the twelve year-old recalled with a grimace. 

After he had awoken and gently disentangled himself from Justin he had set about preparing their meal. When Justin had arisen he had offered it to the teen apologetically. Bread dipped in wine was the customary breakfast here, but he knew it was poor fare compared to what Justin was used to. The Ranger had consumed it without complaint, though his expression had told Solan much.

Most of the village’s inhabitants had already gathered outside the door by the time they had finished. Solan had considered going out to speak to them alone, but keeping Justin hidden would only make him a greater object of interest and curiosity. He had quickly explained this to Justin, asking him to come with him and perhaps say a few words. Justin had made no objection and they had emerged together. 

He had kept his explanation brief, stating that after his death his soul had been tested by a foreign god, and by passing those tests he had returned in this new form. He had introduced Justin as a friend from a distant land who had also passed the god’s tests, but who was unfamiliar with their ways. He had implored them to treat the teenager as their guest. 

He had thought there had been a spark in Justin’s eyes as the boy looked out upon the sea of centaurs, but if so it had quickly died. Justin had thanked them for their hospitality, and they had looked from one to another in confusion. Several had asked what language Justin was speaking. 

He had been confused himself at this, but Justin had soon grasped the truth. In a quiet voice the Ranger explained that whatever Archon had done to his captives at the beginning allowed them to understand each other’s words. By extension Justin could also understand anyone else who was speaking Greek; but no one aside from Solan could understand the language which the teenager spoke. 

Solan had urged Justin to go inside and had continued to speak with the crowd, answering their questions as best he could. He had known most of them for his whole life, but they now seemed fearful of him and even a bit awed. Understandably so, given that they had apparently burned his corpse days ago, only for him to return changed and telling tales of divine tests. He didn’t know how Archon could have left them a body to burn, nor did he wish to know. What was of interest to him was the fact that his “body” had not been placed on that funeral pyre alone. 

The little girl who’d almost killed him, Hope, had died as well, a victim of Gabrielle-her own mother. He didn’t understand how that could be, but he was told that his death and Hope’s had split Gabrielle and Xena apart. That at least was good news; when he did eventually confront his mother, he didn’t want Gabrielle getting hurt. 

After the questioning had finally ceased he had spoken more privately with the village elders. They had agreed to allow him and Justin to live in Kaleipus’ hut and to partake of the village’s store of food, water and firewood. In turn Solan had vowed to do the work of two, avoiding the need to press Justin into service. 

Since then the Prince of Warriors had faithfully lived up to his promise, toiling from sunrise to sunset six days out of seven. He did not begrudge the time and energy he spent, but the tasks themselves reminded him that this was neither the life he desired nor one he was suited to. 

Another circular section of the tree dropped away, and seconds later was sent spinning through the air into the pile. Solan began hacking away at the next portion. 

He was a fighter, not a farm boy; he had learned that beyond doubt. Picking olives, grinding wheat and operating the wine press all now seemed to him boring and tedious chores. He longed to know again the thrill of battle, the challenge of overcoming an enemy and the joy of victory! His nightly practice sessions were only serving to whet that hunger. 

Of course he would sooner die than repeat the tragic mistake he had made with Justin. He would fight only those like Archon, Kenny and Dagnine, people who threatened others and needed to be slain. The weak and innocent he would defend, like his father had at the end.

Like Power Rangers did. 

It was the Power Ranger here, however, who was keeping him bound to the village. After a few days Solan had hit upon the idea of teaching Justin written Greek and then sounding out the words in order to allow the teen to communicate with others. Sasparion had taken on the job of instructing Justin, doing so in the evening hours after dinner. Solan left them alone, making the excuse of bathing in the river. 

Which he always did, once he had practiced his swordsmanship, hand-to-hand combat, chakram throwing and after he had performed the necessary exercises to keep himself fit. The entire regimen took hours, but so too did Justin’s instruction. The Ranger was learning slowly and Solan did not wish to take him away before he had been taught all that he needed. 

Or so he had been telling himself. All of the times he’d been lied to, and now he was the one lying to himself. Violently embedding his axe in what remained of the tree the twelve year-old faced openly what he had been hiding from. 

Justin’s schooling was important, but the reason he had not broaching the idea of leaving was his fear that Justin wouldn’t want to come with him, either out of despondency . . . or because he didn’t wish for Solan’s company. 

After the first day Justin had ceased sharing his grief with Solan; he had ceased sharing anything at all. Their meals and the hour they spent together before bed were largely filled with tense, uncomfortable silence. He knew how much Justin was hurting, but he was at a loss as to how to help the teenager, especially when Justin wouldn’t talk to him. His replies to Solan were generally no more than five words and he seldom began a conversation.

On the days of rest he had tried to get Justin to come swimming with him at the lake, or climbing trees, or hiking in the woods. He was painfully aware of how pallid such activities would be to someone who had known the marvels of television and video games, but they were all that he had to offer. Justin had always refused, preferring to sit quietly on the edge of his bed. The neighbors had told him that Justin rarely left the hut during the day. 

He had tried repeatedly to apologize to Justin, to let the other boy know how sorry he was and how much he regretted having believed Archon. Each time Justin had quickly cut him off. That, and the looks the adolescent sometimes gave him, made it clear that Justin could not forgive him for what he had done. 

Wrenching the axe loose he cut into the tree with a hithero-unseen force and vigor. Once again he was awash in that feeling he despised above all others: helplessness. It seemed there was nothing he could do to alleviate Justin’s agony or to atone for his wrongdoing. He had lost so many people he had cared about to violence in the past. Now that he was at last ready to face down any physical threat, he was losing Justin to something he couldn’t fight. 

And that, he knew, was why his thrice-damned alternate self had chosen to strand Justin here. Not simply to punish Justin, but to punish him as well. This way he could witness Justin’s torture and he could know for certain that his actions had destroyed their friendship. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

He had lost everything. That was the thought that kept echoing endlessly through Justin Stewart’s mind, day after day. 

He had more than half-expected that Archon would kill him if Solan didn’t, but he’d nonetheless clung to the forlorn hope that he might actually be allowed to go home. In his worst nightmares he hadn’t envisioned anything like this. 

He would never see his dad again. He would never see his planet again. He was trapped for the rest of his life on this primitive alternate Earth. 

It was an existence utterly alien to the twentieth century teen. There was no technology here, no modern conveniences. His bed was made from sheepskin, light at night was provided by fire and his toilet was a hole in the ground. Water came from a jug filled at the communal well, and the food was distasteful at best. Now he could better comprehend why Solan had received his stories about everyday life with such wide-eyed wonder. 

Of course since his return it had been Solan himself who had been looked upon with wide-eyed wonder, Justin reflected bitterly. He had seen how the centaurs regarded the magnificently built Grecian boy, and he could well imagine how Solan must be showing off while doing his labor. Personally Justin still doubted it was biologically possible for an early pubescent boy to be so physically developed and gifted. More likely Solan’s other self had augmented him beyond what nature would permit. 

But then that had been the whole point of the tournament, hadn’t it? To improve Solan and Solan’s life, regardless of the cost to everyone else present. He was the only one who had mattered, and the rest of them had been sacrificed purely for his benefit.

Contemplating the monstrous callousness and injustice of it all drove Justin to fits of near-screaming fury. He hated Archon profoundly, with a fire and passion he had never known before. The hot, unfamiliar emotion hung like a lead weight in his chest; it was always with him whatever else he was doing. 

Sometimes he had vented his feelings on the bed, punching and kicking it until he collapsed in exhaustion. Other times he had fantasized in graphic detail about slaughtering the tyrant. He wished desperately that could have somehow killed the fantastically cruel creature, but Archon was gone and the chance to take vengeance with him. Only Solan remained.

Solan, who had been so quick to believe the lies and turn against him. Solan, who had nearly killed him more than once. Solan, the one person to gain from Archon’s hellish contest. Now when he gazed at the twelve year-old he could see the adult’s face in the child’s, and it was hideously easy to imagine how the coming years would shape it into Archon’s visage. 

Thinking of Archon (or should he call the being by his true name, Solan?) was the only thing which could rouse Justin. The rest of the time he spent remembering what he had lost or doing nothing, simply letting time slip by. Often after Solan left in the morning he would go back to bed and sleep for another six hours. Why should he do anything else? What did anything he might do matter now? 

Part of him recognized that he was in the throes of a deep depression, like that which had claimed him after Mom had died and Dad had put him in the orphanage. It had been by far the worst time of his life up until that point, with his entire world collapsing around him. It was only through discovering the Power Rangers and becoming one of them that he had finally managed to break out of his despair. 

Here, though, there were no Power Rangers and no father to come back for him. He had nothing. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Justin had always tried to watch out for little Solan, protecting the younger boy from schoolyard bullies like Colin and Kenny. They had played together often through the elementary and early middle school years. Then when he was twelve Justin had been skipped ahead two grades to high school. 

The work there was more difficult, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Much harder to deal with was the feeling of being out of place, as though he didn’t belong there. Being about a foot shorter and much smarter than everyone else, there was no way for him to fit in. His grades were excellent, but he was always alone.

The harassment started in his second month. Kids tripping him, knocking his books out of his hands and shooting spitballs at his back. Reggie and Junior were two of the worst offenders, and one morning Justin had asked them, “Why are you doing this? I haven’t done anything to you!”

“The king of the jocks says you don’t belong here, little man,” Reggie taunted. “He wants us to give you a hard time.” 

“What are you talking about? Who’s the king of the jocks?” Justin queried. 

Reggie and Junior both burst out laughing. “Man, for someone who’s supposed to be so smart you sure are dumb!” Junior crowed. “You don’t know who the star of the school’s track team is? Go to A lunch right now and you’ll see him. He be the one with all the cheerleaders around him!”

Justin had C lunch, but he had to get to the bottom of this. When he walked into the lunchroom and looked over the tables he saw one did have a bunch of cheerleaders and athletes. He strode over to it, eager to get this resolved. 

One of the kids saw him and said something. Another figure stood up and turned to face him. Justin stopped dead in his tracks. 

It was Solan. 

He had grown a lot since the last time Justin had seen him. He was a full head taller than the Turbo Ranger and much broader. He had on a pair of two hundred dollar sneakers, stone-washed blue jeans and a red letterman’s jacket, half unzipped to reveal his bare, very well-muscled chest.

“Hello, Justin,” he said in a deep, unfamiliar voice. 

“Solan?!? But what-how are you here?” he asked in bewilderment.

“You got skipped ahead for your brains; I got skipped ahead for my brawn,” Solan explained smugly. “Why should I be wasted in middle school sports when I can be the king of the jocks here?” 

“You-you’ve been the one telling people to bully me?” Justin questioned plaintively. 

“You don’t belong here,” Solan said coldly. “This is my domain. My world, and soon enough my universe. You’d only get in the way of me reaching my full potential.” 

And he lashed out with a fist to the jaw, followed by a punch to the stomach. 

“Fight, fight, fight!” the other kids chanted as they got up from their tables and gathered excitedly around the combatants. 

Justin tried to defend himself, but Solan was quick as lightning and strong as steel. Worse, he was obviously a high-degree black belt. He mercilessly battered Justin all the way across the lunch room as the other kids enthusiastically cheered him on. 

Justin stood panting, bleeding, and desperate. He was never supposed to morph in front of others; guarding his secret identity was one of the foremost rules of being a Power Ranger. If he didn’t do something, though, Solan was going to kill him. 

“Shift into Turbo!” he called, but his morpher didn’t appear in response to his movement. 

“Shift into Turbo!” he cried again, but still nothing happened. 

Solan laughed. “Don’t you get it, Justin?” he taunted. “You’re not a Power Ranger anymore. I’m the one with the power now! Shift into Turbo!” he called out confidently as a morpher appeared on his wrist.

From out of nowhere he pulled a key and inserted it into the device. 

“Red Lightning Turbo Power!” he exclaimed, and before Justin’s horrified, disbelieving gaze Solan morphed into a six foot five Red Turbo Ranger. 

The Red Ranger’s white-gloved hands closed inexorably around the teenager’s neck. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

Justin screamed as he sat bolt upright in bed. He was panting and perspiring, his heartbeat quick with terror. He took rapid breaths, feeling as thought he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. 

“Justin? Are you all right?” a concerned voice asked. From the bed in the corner, the one which had been brought into the hut during his second day here, a shape arose and started toward him. At the approach of the frighteningly large, menacingly muscular figure, the same one who had destroyed him in his dreams, Justin panicked. 

“No! Get back! Stay the hell away from me!” he shouted. 

Solan froze immediately. For a moment he stood there, as if paralyzed. Then he turned around and returned to his bed without a word. 

Justin lay back down on his own bed, trying to calm himself, trying to get back to sleep.   
ΩΩΩΩΩ

Solan could not return to slumber. He didn’t even try. 

He’d been right all along: Justin couldn’t forgive him. He had heard the fear and hate in the older boy’s voice. There was no longer any point in waiting. He would leave tomorrow evening. 

There were few possessions for him to gather, but he would need to talk to Sasparion, both to announce his departure and to see if it would be possible for him to pay for Justin’s continued care. Hopefully the centaur would be willing, and would give him a couple of months before requiring any payment. He didn’t know how he would earn the money, but he would find a way. 

When first light dawned Solan slipped quietly out of his bed and out of the hut. He didn’t pause for breakfast. 

He was far too nauseous to eat. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

Try as he might, Justin hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. After Solan left he got up and got dressed. He started to pour water into his cup, but found the jug was practically empty. He frowned in consternation before deciding to refill the container himself. 

As he left the hut he felt a prickle of unease. It was dawn and the centaurs would all be emerging to begin their jobs for the day. He was never out at this hour; in fact he was rarely out at all. He quickened his pace, wanting to finish and get back to the hut. 

Sure enough, centaurs were emerging from every doorway, many of them looking curiously at him. Up ahead Sasparion, his tutor, was engaged in conversation with Solan. 

Were they talking about his progress in learning to read and speak Greek? He could have done better, he knew that. He was a genius and a very fast learner. Under the circumstances, though, he hadn’t been able to muster the motivation. He’d only started the lessons in the first place because it was the path of least resistance.

As he drew nearer he could heard what Solan was saying. 

“. . . send back the money for his care as soon as I can. Just give me a couple of months to find a way to earn it.”

At first the words made no sense to him. Then they did. 

The water jug dropped unheeded from Justin’s suddenly limp fingers. Sasparion saw him and said something in a low tone to Solan. The blond youth whirled around and took a step forward. He opened his mouth to speak as the teenager came charging at him. 

His first punch was blocked by Solan’s forearm, and half an instant later the hand at the end of that arm closed around Justin’s wrist like an iron manacle. His left fist, however, hit home on Grecian boy’s jaw. His right hand was released and he began striking with both fists. He hooked his right leg behind Solan’s ankle and shoved the larger boy to the ground. 

Sitting on his opponent’s torso he hit furiously at that oh so handsome face. Solan’s face; Archon’s face. He needed to smash it, to pound it beyond all recognition. He was striking at both of them, at the god who had kidnapped them, who had tortured them, who had forced Justin to lose friends and to kill, all for the gain of a single individual. And at the boy who had gained, who had pushed him to the edge of death repeatedly, who had gotten to return to his own world, and who was now going to abandon him, leaving him to rot alone. 

Then he was being yanked up and away by strong hands clutching his shoulders. He struggled wildly, writhing to get free, but he couldn’t manage to break the grip.

“Let him go,” he heard a voice gasp. 

“Let him go!” the voice repeated, more commanding and with an undertone of menace. 

The grip on his shoulders slackened and Justin wrenched his way free from Sasparion. 

In front of him stood Solan, blood spilling from his nose, one eye half-closed, and bits of soil falling away from his dirt-encrusted hands. 

It was the sight of those hands that confused Justin and gave him pause. They hadn’t been that way a moment ago. The hand that had seized his wrist had been perfectly clean. 

Justin glanced down at the ground and saw two areas of gouged-out earth, widely separated. While he was down Solan must have dug his hands into the dirt. Instead of bringing them up to defend himself he had-he had held himself back. 

He had let Justin hit him again and again and he hadn’t retaliated. He hadn’t even tried to shield himself, not after that first blocked blow. 

Somehow they’d switched places yet again. Now he was the violent aggressor, and Solan was the peaceful victim, determined not to fight back. 

Justin shook his head, as though to dislodge that thought, but it couldn’t be expelled so easily. He didn’t-he couldn’t . . . .

The fourteen year-old turned and ran. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ

It had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. To lie there and allow Justin to punch him, when he could have so easily overcome the older boy! There had been no technique or skill to the teenager’s assault, just pure blind rage. Subduing the Turbo Ranger would thus have been no more difficult than restraining a tantrum-throwing toddler.

Why hadn’t he done it, then? Partially because of the shame-filled memory of how badly he had beaten Justin up before. After they had been sent here he had several times seen the vast network of bruises he had left covering the teenager’s body. It was only natural that he should shy away from using force against Justin after that. 

There was also the unshakeable sense that he deserved this and more, in repayment for his misguided actions. Finally he had been striving in vain for something, anything, which he could do to make Justin feel better. This had been something he could do.   
Solan had a lot of time to work through the reasons for his response. He had followed Justin, taking to the treetops to do so. He couldn’t simply let the Ranger run off, especially like this. Fortunately Justin hadn’t gone too far. He had stopped, gasping for breath, at the edge of the lake. 

He was woefully out of shape, Solan observed critically. He clearly hadn’t been keeping up on his karate practice. 

From the edge of the woods he had watched as Justin regained his breath, afraid the result would be renewed flight. Instead Justin had stayed there, looking out over the lake. He sat still for so long that the Warrior Prince started to worry about a return to that strange trance state, but then he shifted slightly and turned his head to the right. He remained sitting on the shore, watching the lake and a few times throwing stones into the water, as the sun slowly inched its way across the sky. 

Solan kept to his place as the hours passed, ignoring his increasingly sharp pangs of hunger. He didn’t want to leave Justin unsupervised, but approaching the adolescent might do more harm than good. So he simply watched, until Justin spoke without bothering to turn around. 

“I know you’re there,” he announced, his voice calm and steady. 

Solan hesitated for another moment before stepping forward. It struck him then that this was the exact same place he’d talked to Xena, really talked to her, for the first time. This was where he had vowed to let the past go, where he had announced that he didn’t want to be a warrior, where he had cast his father’s sword, the sword now in the sheath on his back, into the lake. 

Given its past history this site was the last place he would have chosen to speak to Justin, but the choice had been taken out of his hands. At least this time there would be no lying or deception in the conversation. 

Justin turned to look at him as he moved to the older boy’s side and winced. “I’m sor- ” he began before Solan cut him off. 

“Don’t apologize! I did far worse to you, and you won’t let me apologize.” Some of the frustrated hurt and bitterness he felt had unintentionally leaked into his tone on that last part. For so long now he’d wanted to apologize at length, and Justin had continuously denied him that. 

“You’re right, I haven’t let you apologize,” Justin admitted. “I didn’t want to hear what you had to say.” He paused. “I didn’t want to forgive you.”

Solan clenched his teeth together so tightly that the pain redoubled all along his bruised and aching jaw. To actually hear it said, to hear Justin admit that the Ranger wouldn’t forgive him, affected him more deeply than he had anticipated. 

“I wanted to stay angry at you, not only because of what you did, but because it was like staying angry at him.” 

There was no need to ask which “him” Justin was referring to. 

 

“I hate him so much,” Justin confessed, his voice breaking “and I’ve never hated anyone before! When I found out that he was an alternate version of you and that the entire tournament was for your benefit . . .” Justin trailed off, and Solan could keep silent no longer. 

“But I’m not him! I never want to be him! He tried to make me follow in his footsteps and he failed, thanks to you! Can’t you understand that?” Solan demanded in anguish.

“You’re not grateful for what he’d done for you? How he’s helped you?” Justin asked intensely. 

Solan gazed back, thunderstruck. “No! Not after he lied to me about you! Not after I found out he was only helping me to control me! I hate him too!” the Warrior Prince insisted. “You saw me try to kill him when he threatened you!” 

“I did,” Justin acknowledged, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “I did.”

“Justin, I’m sorry I believed him over you. I’m sorry I thought you were going to kill me. I’m sorry for beating you up and almost killing you. I’m sorry I didn’t listen when you tried to talk to me and I’m so, so sorry that you’re trapped here in my world. If I could change any of it I swear I would, but I can’t!” 

It was freeing to finally be able to say the words he’d rehearsed so long in his head, to at last give voice to his regret and remorse. Even if Justin wouldn’t accept it, it felt good to apologize. 

“I know you can’t,” Justin said softly. “And I know you’re sorry. I’ve known it all along.”

He stared directly into Solan’s eyes and the twelve year-old had to force himself to maintain eye-contact. 

“You aren’t him, and I shouldn’t act like you are. Solan . . . I forgive you.” 

A sharp pain went through Solan’s chest, through his heart, as he heard the words he had never expected to hear. He clasped Justin’s right hand in his own, his arm trembling. 

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely. 

Justin squeezed his hand in response before breaking the grip. 

“So where are you going?” he asked with forced lightness. 

“I don’t know. I only know I can’t stay here.” He dropped his gaze, uncertain of how Justin would take what he had to say next. 

“It was wrong of me to fight you, Justin, but it’s not wrong to fight. Not against those like Morthos, Kenny and Archon. I was born to be a warrior and I will be one, but in the cause of good. As I travel I’ll keep watch for those who are in need of a champion, and for those who need to be defeated.” 

He finished and saw to his dismay that Justin had gone very still. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

This was it! This was the answer, or at least as much of one as he could hope to find. 

Justin’s mind flashed back to the day he’d given up his super-strength so that he could stay a Ranger. He recalled what he’d told the others in response to their sympathy. 

“Being strong was good, just for me. Being a Ranger means helping others, and nothing could be better than that.” 

He remembered the day he’d been selected for Archon’s tournament, when he had gone into Angel Grove with Storm Blaster to try to head off the attack and save as many people as possible.

He revisited the realization he’d had on the last night of the tournament, the revelation that he needed to help others and that by doing so he helped himself become better and happier. 

Finally his mind went back over the past few weeks, all the time spent wallowing in his own grief and sorrow. He hadn’t helped anyone in all that time and he had hurt Solan.

This was his chance to help people again, and not just by fighting. There was so much knowledge he could share once he learned how to speak Greek, things like basic hygiene, unknown farming techniques, physics, an entire host of subjects. He would have to be careful, of course, but he could actually make people’s lives better! 

If Solan would let him come along. 

“Would you,” he stopped, swallowed, and started again. “Would you take me with you?” 

For the first time since the transformation Justin saw the Warrior Prince smile. Not a smirk, not a cruel grin, but a full-fledged, astonished smile. 

“I always wanted you to come,” Solan said, almost shyly. “I just didn’t think you would.” 

Nor could he be blamed for thinking that, Justin realized sadly. 

Justin’s sudden euphoria was tempered by a dose of realism. He knew that traveling like this wasn’t a cure-all. It wouldn’t magically make everything better or remove the grief from his heart. It was, however, a way forward. It was a chance to give purpose and meaning to his life, a chance to start helping others again. It was what a Power Ranger should do. He might not have his powers anymore, but in a way that didn’t even matter. He had accepted the responsibility and taken the oath. 

Once a Ranger, always a Ranger. 

ΩΩΩΩΩ 

It was another two months before they finally departed. During that time Sasparion confided to Solan that Justin’s progress had accelerated to nothing short of remarkable. By the day they were ready to leave Justin spoke Greek as well as any of the younger centaur children. 

Justin had also gotten back into shape under Solan’s strict supervision. The Warrior Prince had told the Ranger about his nightly sessions and to his relief Justin was not angry about being kept in the dark. In fact he had suggested that they spar together. Solan had flatly refused initially, only reluctantly giving in after repeated entreaties. 

The first time they had sparred he had taken it so easy and been so careful to avoid making Justin feel bad that the frustrated Turbo Ranger had ended up deliberately landing a powerful kick to his stomach. After that he had resumed doing his best and consequently he had continually kicked Justin’s ass. The teenager took it well and had even requested that Solan begin teaching him the latter’s style of unarmed combat. In return Justin had taught him the meditation that went with the martial arts. Then, too, Justin had joined Solan in performing the labor which needed to be accomplished for the good of the village. 

It wasn’t all work. They had gone swimming in the lake every rest day and Justin had learned to climb trees. The time they spent together no longer passed in silence, but was filled with animated conversation. When Justin’s sorrow got to be too much for him Solan was always there to offer a sympathetic ear, a shoulder to cry on and a reassuring presence. The strong foundation of friendship which had been laid the day they met, only to be damaged by subsequent events, was repaired, built on and reinforced.

When they left, each wearing a pack full to bursting with food, water and other supplies, all the centaurs turned out to bid them farewell. As they passed the village’s borders Justin felt a trace of his old optimism return. He knew that what they were doing was right, and he believed things would work out. 

Solan’s thoughts were also on the future. He saw the road stretching out before them and he couldn’t guess where it would lead. He didn’t know what dangers they would face or what enemies they would battle and overcome together. 

He was sure of only one thing: no matter what it took, someday he would indeed become a god. 

And on that day he would send Justin home. 

The Beginning 

Notes: If you’ve read all the way up to this, the last chapter, you must have an opinion on my tale to share. Please review!


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